


the cricket and the beanpole

by iv (ivan)



Series: your love was handmade for somebody like me [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fix it AU, Not Incest, and he has a happy life and doesn't grow up to be the canon oswald, happy childhood au, i did my research and i hate incest lmao, in which charlie's parents take oswald in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 16:31:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 40,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13035060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivan/pseuds/iv
Summary: in which oswald didn't get shipped off to england; instead an old friend of his mother took him in and gave him a good life oswald deserved.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is SO self-indulgent.

Oswald was ten when he first met Crispin; he was ten and his father had died a short time ago. He killed himself, hanged himself in his office, leaving no note behind; it devastated his son and wife, it broke their hearts.

Crispin showed up a few days later. At his sight Esther - Oswald’s mother - nearly smiled for a first time since the fateful morning; but that tiny twitch of the corners of her mouth was quickly followed by tears, streaming down her cheeks.

“I’ve came as soon as I could.” the man said quietly, embracing a sobbing woman. “I am so sorry, Esther.”

“Thank you, Crispin.” she whispered back. “Thank you.”

“Who is that, mom?” Oswald asked quietly; he was watching the pair from the staircase. The man was tall and looked trustworthy, Oswald decided; strong, but gentle - and his mother seemed to trust him.

“You must be Oswald.” the man said, looking at him. “I am terribly, terribly sorry about your father.” he said; and he sounded genuine. “My name’s Crispin. I’m a friend of your mother, back from the days of our… Youth.”

Oswald nodded, remembering the stories of her rebellious youth his mother sometimes told him.

“I came here to help, any way I can.” Crispin added, looking back at Esther. “I am so glad you reached out to me, Essie.”

“I don’t know who to trust in Gotham.” Esther whispered back, her eyes filling up with tears again. “I… I…”

She began to sob again; and Oswald looked away. He quietly walked up to her and took her hand.

“Come on, mom.” he choked out, his own eyes burning. “You should rest.”

(He only cried when his mother wasn’t around; Thomas Wayne told him he has to be strong for his mother now.)

He took his mother to the bedroom she once shared with Theodore, made her take her medicine, and waited for her to fall asleep; and when he turned around - Crispin was standing in the doorway.

“I’ll show you way to the guest room.” he said, walking past him; but Crispin - cautiously, reluctantly - put his hand on his shoulder.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

“What do you want to talk about?”

“You lost your father, Oswald.” Crispin said quietly, softly. “I know how it feels, I remember it well. I’m not here just for your mother, boy. I’m here for you as well. I want to take some of this burden you’re carrying off your shoulders.”

Oswald looked at him, and wanted to tell him he’s fine, he’s a big boy, he can manage - but Crispin looked at him with genuine concern and Oswald teared up and started to cry, his heart way too small for a heartbreak that big.

“It’s alright.” Crispin said quietly, leading him to a nearby chair. “You’re just a kid, Oswald. You don’t have to carry the world on your shoulders.”

Oswald nodded through tears.

“There’s something I wanted to give you.” Crispin said, kneeling down in front of a sobbing Oswald. “I have a daughter, few years younger than you. She’s a darling little girl.” he added tenderly. “She heard about what happened… And asked me to give you this.”

Crispin quietly handed him a - slightly worn up - stuffed penguin.

“It’s one of her favorites.” he said. “She squeezes it when she’s sad. She says it makes her feel better… And she decided you might try it as well.”

Oswald hesitantly took the mascot; he didn’t see anything shameful in keeping stuffed animals - but this thing clearly was important to someone else.

“Can I keep it?” he asked; and Crispin smiled.

“For as long as you’ll need it.” he stated.

“Thank you.” he said quietly, squeezing the mascot; it was soft and smelled of baby powder. This soft, comforting smell made him tear up again, and he wiped his tears angrily with his hand.

“Don’t hold them back.” Crispin told him quietly; but Oswald shook his head.

“My friend’s father told me I have to be strong.” he said, his voice breaking. “For mom.”

For a moment, something weird glimmered in Crispin’s blue eyes; something dark and angry.

“I’m here now.” he said after a moment. “I can be strong for both of you.”

And he kept his promise; he stayed with them for a while. He quietly took care of Esther - whom he kept referring to as _Essie_ \- and made sure Oswald isn’t holding anything back. He was a pleasant person to have around; he couldn’t fill the void left by Theodore’s passing - but he certainly kept both Esther and Oswald from falling apart completely. He wasn’t trying to replace Theodore; he seemed to love his own wife too much to see Esther like that.

“Do you love my mother?” Oswald asked him one night, few days before the funeral; Crispin glanced at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Dad loved mom.” Oswald stated, feeling an unpleasant bitterness, caused by the past tense. “Do you?”

“There are many kinds of love, Oswald.” Crispin said cautiously. “I’ve seen your friend, Bruce. Do you love him?”

“I guess.” Oswald said with a shrug. “I like to play with him. Alfred says we’re as thick as thieves.”

“Alfred?”

“His butler. He’s really nice.”

“See, that’s how things are between me and your mom. She’s an old friend - nothing more, nothing less. We can count on each other, same way you can count on Bruce.”

“That’s good.” Oswald said quietly. “What is your family like?”

“I have two lovely girls at home.” Crispin said softly. “Charlie and Eleanor, both my pride and joy.”

“What is your wife like?”

“Beautiful. Elegant. Graceful. Have you ever been caught in a rain?”

“Plenty times.”

“Eleanor is a lot like… That comforting warmth you feel when you change into dry clothes and wrap yourself up in a blanket. That’s how she makes me feel, every time I think about her.”

“That’s how mom makes me feel.”

“That’s because you love her. This is what love feels like. Warm and comforting.”

And Oswald nodded solemnly, despite not fully understanding what did Crispin mean; but it sounded right. It sounded like something dad would say.

The funeral was quiet; lots of people showed up, because Theodore’s passing left a mark on lots of people. Even his political rival - Hamilton Hill - was there, with his whole family; his daughter cautiously squeezed Oswald’s palm.

“I’m sorry, Oz.” she said to him, and he smiled through tears.

 _Oz_ was a nickname given to him by Bruce; only his friends called him that. Naturally, Bruce - as well as his parents - showed up as well; he could see Thomas and Martha console the devastated widow, with Crispin watching from a distance.

On a whim, Oswald introduced him to Bruce; but Crispin seemed to be worried about something, distracted, absent-minded. He followed the Waynes with his eyes; but he didn’t talk to them, instead limiting himself to looking.

“In a few years, I want to be like Thomas Wayne.” Oswald quietly confessed to him; and Crispin nodded quietly.

***

During the year that followed, the mental health of Oswald’s mother deteriorated.

She became unstable and paranoid; but it was clear she’s trying her best, so he didn’t say anything, pushing the scary thoughts away and focusing on how much he loved her. Other kids often tormented him; but Bruce would always defend him. He was a good friend - and his parents seemed to be doing the same for his mother.

Oswald missed his father, and so did Esther; they mostly backed out from Gotham’s social life, instead focusing on mending their wounds. But no matter how hard he tried, how much he loved her - it didn’t seem to work. Her love and dedication kept him grounded, kept him going - but his love didn’t seem to be doing much for her.

It was a busy year, and Oswald nearly forgot about Crispin, a kind friend of his mother; but he sometimes thought about him late at night, when he’d stumble upon the penguin mascot he gave him. He said his daughter squeezes it when she feels sad - and so would Oswald, absentmindedly, instinctively. It didn’t quite give him the relief he craved; but it gave him some indescribable, faint spark of hope.

Eventually, it all came crashing down; his mother disappeared one night and didn’t return and everyone said she was crazy and dangerous and Oswald was left all alone.

***

“You can’t be serious!”

Even from behind the closed doors, Oswald could hear the arguing downstairs; few days after Esther was suddenly committed to Arkham Asylum and Oswald was taken away Crispin returned to Gotham, looking for him.

“You’re turning the law into a parody of itself!” Crispin exclaimed angrily. “ _Fuck_ the law! Use your goddamn heart, mayor Hill - that is, if you even _have_ one!”

The mayor replied too quietly for Oswald to hear; but it seemed like whatever he said, only aggravated Crispin further.

“I will not allow it!” he stated. “I will not let _anyone_ send this kid away, to god knows where. It’s a _kid_!”

“The paperwork-”

“Well so I will _fill_ the paperwork! Go to a hearing! And you better believe me when I say it, Hill - better don’t try anything.”

Footsteps, closer and closer; after a few moments the door to Oswald’s tiny, dark room opened and Crispin was standing in the doorway, still in his travel clothes, dripping wet from a rain.

“I came as fast as I could.” he said. “And I see you’re in one piece. Good.”

He left his wet coat and hat on the hanger outside and came back inside; he sat on Oswald’s bed, next to the boy, who was staring at his own feet.

“Do you remember me?”

“Yes.” Oswald replied quietly. “It’s… Nice to see you.”

“Oh, Oswald.” Crispin sighed. “I know what happened. To your mom.”

“I don’t understand.” Oswald said, holding back tears. “I don’t- I don’t understand!”

He began to cry; since his father’s funeral he cried a lot. Others often made fun of him; but he didn’t care. He felt like his body is too small to contain all those tears inside.

“To be honest, I don’t understand it either.” Crispin said quietly; it made Oswald tear up even more. “This is a mess - and I’m not going to leave you with it.”

“W-what do you mean?”

“Esther is my friend.” Crispin replied after a long pause. “Very close friend, whom I hold dear. We went through thick and thin together - and you’re her _child_. I’m not going to leave you to perish same way your world did.”

He kept his word, even though he only told Oswald what exactly did he mean about a week later. It turned out Esther was deemed too unstable, too dangerous to be a mother; and Oswald suddenly became penniless and alone.

“I can’t track down whatever happened to your fortune.” Crispin told him quietly. “I have no connections in Gotham, no influence… And I have to tread carefully if I want them to let me take care of you.”

“It’s alright.” Oswald said quietly. “Will you let me see mom?”

Crispin sighed and sat down next to him.

“Listen.” he said. “Whatever happened to your mother… It changed her, Oswald. Against her will, it turned her into someone she never wanted to be. Someone she wouldn’t want you to see.”

“But it’s my mom!” Oswald choked out. “Please, Crispin.”

“Alright.” the man said softly. “I’ll see what I can do. If my plan succeeds, if I’m granted guardianship over you… You’ll have to leave Gotham. Are you aware of it?”

“Will you let me say goodbye to Bruce?”

“Of course I will. We can give him your new address, so you two can stay in touch. New York’s not that far, it’ll be like you never left.”

“But what about your family?” Oswald suddenly asked. “Will they like me? Won’t it be a problem?”

“Of course it’s not a problem. My girls say they’re both very excited to meet you, especially Charlie. And once we’ll be in New York… We’ll all go on a shopping trip, to get you everything you want.”

Somehow Crispin’s plan succeeded, as he informed Oswald with glee. But before they could leave, before Oswald could begin a new life - he had to visit his mother. Crispin asked him to reconsider - but he promised he’ll take him to her if Oswald doesn’t change his mind. And he kept this promise; but Esther didn’t even recognize Oswald anymore.

“Mom…” he choked out, his voice quieter than a whisper. “It’s me! Mom!”

But it was all in vain.

“I am so sorry, Oswald.” Crispin whispered to him, putting a hand on his shoulder; he sounded like he’s holding back tears himself.

“What happened to her?” Oswald whispered. “Why?”

But there was no answer - maybe Crispin simply didn’t have one.

Oswald’s last meeting with Bruce took place in the Cobblepot Park; Oswald wanted to take a good look at the place

It was short; but the boys were both sad. Bruce was a good friend; and Oswald knew he’s going to miss him dearly.

“Write to me.” Bruce asked. “School’s going to suck without you, Oz.”

“Tell Alfred I’m really sorry about that vase.”

“He knows that. He says he’s not angry.”

They hugged.

“I’ll miss you.” Bruce muttered. “Goodbye, Oz.”

One more visit at a cemetery - and Crispin took Oswald away from Gotham, to New York, where new life was awaiting him.

“What would happen to me if you didn’t show up?” he asked at some point during the drive; but Crispin only sighed.

“Let’s not dwell on that.” he said, his eyes focused on the road. “How are you feeling?”

“Sad.” Oswald admitted.

“You’re not afraid of saying that. That’s a good quality.”

“Dad used to say there’s nothing shameful about sadness.”

“Your dad was a great man.” Crispin said, briefly glancing at him. “I’ve met him a few times. I always knew Esther would marry a great person.”

“How did you meet my mom?”

“Oh, we go way back. We’ve met during our rebellious phases… And we stayed in touch.” he added with a sad smile. “But when I started a family on my own, the relationship loosened up a bit… Until she called me one night.”

“When my dad died.” Oswald said quietly.

“Yes.” Crispin sighed. “I instantly knew it’s her, I’d recognize her voice anywhere. I told my wife what happened, and she told me to go to Gotham. So I did.”

“Does your wife know mom?”

“Very briefly. Eleanor was my plus one during the wedding of your parents. I think… They’d become good friends if they had more time.”

Oswald didn’t say anything, instead looking out of the window.

“Do you think your daughter will let me keep the penguin for a while longer?” he eventually asked.

“Of course she will. She’s a very sweet girl, I’m sure you two will get along just fine.”

***

Crispin’s home looked nothing like the elegant mansion Oswald grew up in - instead of wood and cozy, dark colors it was filled with glass and brightness. It was a spacious, modern apartment; and initially Oswald felt out of place in his conservative clothes.

Crispin’s wife was very beautiful; she had soft features and beautiful, red hair. She was wearing comfortable sweatpants, stained with flour here and there.

“Welcome home, darling.” she said, kissing her husband tenderly. “And you must be Oswald.” she added, looking at him. “I’m Eleanor.”

“It’s… It’s nice to meet you.” Oswald replied cautiously; and Eleanor smiled.

“No need to be so formal. Please, make yourself at home. Oh!” she added, looking at his suitcase. “Is this… _All_?”

“Damn vultures.” Crispin said in a dark tone. “Kid lost everything.”

“Oh my.” Eleanor sighed, shaking her head. “Well, we’ll have to do something about it. Follow me, Oswald.” she added, turning around. “For now your room might feel a bit impersonal… But I didn’t want to decorate it without actually knowing anything about you.”

Oswald’s new room was located in the corner of the flat, between the bedroom Crispin shared with Eleanor and the room of their daughter. It really felt a bit plain and impersonal; but Oswald decided he doesn’t mind. It looked like he’s going to stay for good - and he was sure he’ll turn the room into his own in no time.

“Oh, you really were left with almost nothing.” Eleanor sighed after he opened his suitcase - it contained some clothes, a few books, a photo album and a penguin mascot he got from Crispin. “Charlie will be happy to hear you kept this.” she added gently, nodding towards the mascot. “When Crispin told me what happened to your dad, Charlie was eavesdropping… And she walked into the room with such determination! She walked up to Crispin with Waddles in her arms and said _that boy’s dad died. I’d be sad if you died, daddy. Give him Waddles, so he won’t be sad_.”

Oswald smiled faintly, taking Waddles out of the bag and putting him on a nightstand.

“Tomorrow we’ll have to go shopping.” Eleanor decided. “But tonight… You should rest. I’m sure you’re tired. And hungry. Are you hungry?”

“Yeah.” he admitted nervously; and Eleanor smiled.

“Come on then. We have to sit down and decide what to do about it.”

In the room next door, Crispin was saying _hi_ to his daughter; she was napping when they arrived.

Oswald could hear her excited squealing.

“Daddy, you’re back!”

“Of course I’m back! I’d always come back for you, princess.”

His stomach twisted briefly, when he remembered his own father and how safe he felt in his strong arms.

“Crispin, Charlie!” Eleanor called out to them. “We’re trying to figure out dinner.”

Crispin left the room, followed by a tiny, red-haired girl; she looked at Oswald attentively, before solemnly nodding and returning to her room. Eleanor opened her mouth; but Crispin snickered and shook his head.

“Give her a minute.” he asked.

“Alright.” Eleanor sighed. “Charlie, darling, we’ll be in the living room!”

“Uh-uh!” the girl said back, very busy with something; Oswald couldn’t see what was she doing.

The mystery solved itself after a few minutes; Charlie walked into the living room carefully carrying a piece of paper.

“It’s for you.” she said excitedly, handing it to Oswald; he glanced at it and smiled. It was a crayon drawing - and it was obvious a lot of heart was put into it, even if the lines were a bit wonky. It depicted Charlie and her parents - as well as Oswald.

“I didn’t know what you look like, so I had to wait for you to finish it.” she explained with a proud smile. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.” he assured her; her freckled face lit up. “Thank you, Charlie.”

“So.” Eleanor said, attracting everyone’s attention. “Tonight’s dinner.”

“Let’s just order something.” Crispin suggested. “It’s far too late for shopping and cooking anyway. Do you like pizza, Oswald?”

“Who doesn’t?” Oswald answered, feeling more and more at ease; those were kind people. They wouldn’t replace his family - but it didn’t feel like they’re trying to. “And… Could you call me Oz?”

“Of course.”

***

First month flew by; New York felt… Weird - and Oswald couldn’t quite decide if he likes it or not. But he did like the family he was living with; they were caring and accepting. He still missed his parents dearly; but at least he didn’t feel alone. It was obvious Crispin misses the old Esther as well; he told Oswald plenty of stories from their youth, wild, colorful, almost unbelievable stories.

“We were _very_ lively back in the day.” he’d say with a mischievous spark in his eyes. “Essie was a little devil.”

Oswald cocked his head, trying to imagine his calm, collected mother during a riot; but to no avail.

After the first month, Oswald wrote to Bruce; but there never was any reply - and when he tried to call Alfred very apologetically said Bruce isn’t home right now. He promised to relay Oswald’s message; but Bruce never called him back.

It didn’t feel nice.

“You’re so sad.” Charlie stated. “What happened?”

“I think my friend is ignoring me.” he said; to which Charlie scoffed.

“This means he was never really your friend.” she said firmly; and he smiled faintly, hearing this come from the mouth of a six years old, tiny girl.

“But we played cops and robbers together. He went to my dad’s funeral.”

“I’m sorry that you’re sad.” she said, sitting down next to him on his bed. “People are often mean. It sucks.”

“Yeah.” he sighed, glancing at her; she had scraped knees. “Did you fall down?”

“A boy pushed me.” she admitted. “He does that a lot.”

“Did you tell the teacher?”

“I did.” she said sadly. “But she said it means he likes me. Does it?” she asked suddenly. “Is there someone you like?”

Oswald sighed, thinking about Skyler Hill; she was nice and often borrowed books from him and they often played hopscotch together. They were friends; and people often asked if she’s his _girlfriend_. He wouldn’t mind; Skyler was very pretty and nice.

“I think so.” he eventually said. “But I never pushed her. Dad told me to not be mean to people I like, because they might think I don’t like them.”

“That’s what my dad says too!” Charlie exclaimed. “And that’s what I told the teacher! But she just told me _boys will be boys_ and told me to not give him attention. What does it mean?” she asked suddenly. “Boys will be boys. What does it mean?”

“People think boys are more special than anyone else.” Oswald said cautiously, remembering the same conversation with his mother. “And boys think that too. And because of that - they get away with more stuff.”

“That’s not fair!” Charlie said with a pout. “He pushes me and he laughs about it and it hurts.”

“I finish school very early tomorrow.” Oswald said. “And I told your parents I’ll pick you up. Do you want me to talk to this kid?”

Charlie gasped.

“Would you really do this? For me?”

“Well, yeah.” he said; the drawing she gave him was on the wall above his bed, among pictures of his parents. “That’s what people do when they like someone. They care about them.”

“You’re so nice.” she sighed.

The next day, after school, he went to pick Charlie up from the playground; their elementary school was located nearby, close enough to home for Crispin and Eleanor to not worry about any of them getting lost. Taking care of Charlie wasn’t exactly his chore - as Crispin explained he’s in no way obliged to consider her his sister - but he didn’t mind. She was a nice kid.

Charlie was waiting for him on the playground.

“Oz, Oz!” she called out and he smiled and waved to her; and she ran up to him - but on her way there another kid - a boy, slightly taller than her - tripped her up.

“Hey!” Oswald called up, running up to her; she was sitting on the ground, her knees bloodied and scraped, her dress dirty and her eyes filling up with tears. “Why did you do it?” he asked the other kid, who only shrugged.

“It hurts.” Charlie said tearfully.

“You should apologize.” Oswald said firmly, thinking back to all those times it was Bruce defending him.

But the kid didn’t apologize; and there was no teacher anywhere to be seen, so Oswald sighed and pushed the kid. Not too hard - but hard enough to make him fall down as well, hitting the ground with his bony butt.

“Can you walk?” he asked Charlie; but she tearfully shook her head.

So he gave her a piggyback ride; she was thin and barely had any weight at all.

“Thank you.” she said to him as they were nearing their building. “You defended me.”

“It’s nothing. But your parents should talk to the teachers. Good afternoon, James!” he added at the sight of the elderly butler. He was a nice man; he reminded Oswald of Alfred.

“Oh, my.” James said with a concerned expression. “What happened to the young miss?”

“A boy pushed me.” she said, tightly embracing Oswald from behind. “But Oz defended me!”

“Then I can rest well, knowing young miss has such a dashing protector.” James said with a smile and Charlie giggled. “How was school, master Oswald?”

“Great.” he said; he wasn’t exactly lying. He was a good student, and teachers seemed to like him - even if he felt like an outcast. He didn’t know anyone, and he missed his old friends; and it looked like the kids in his new class know more about him than he’d like them to. But he decided to give himself time - after all, he only moved here about a month ago.

“Come on, Charlie, let’s clean up those knees.”

“Will you use the stinging water?”

Oswald laughed.

“It’s called hydrogen peroxide.”

“It’s a water that stings.”

“And also makes those scrapes clean, so they don’t get infected.”

She pouted when he was cleaning her scraped knees.

“Do you think he’ll stop pushing me now?”

“I hope so.” he said, putting the bottle away. “If not… Your parents should contact his parents.”

She nodded.

They spent the afternoon playing _Kirby_ ; the game was released very recently, but Charlie was shockingly good at it.

“Daddy taught me how to play.” she explained cheerfully as he was finishing up his maths homework. “He says he might even let me play _Wolfenstein_ one day!”

“I’ve read about this one. That’s the one where you kill Nazis, right?”

“Yeah! Daddy loves _Wolfenstein_ , says it helps him relax.”

“Mmm.” Oswald muttered, returning to deciding how many apple _does_ Jack have left.

“Hey, Oz?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you have friends?”

He sighed quietly; it was an innocent question, and there was no hint of malice in Charlie’s voice. It was also a very rational one - Charlie had plenty of playdates, while Oswald never asked if he can go to a sleepover or if someone can come home with him after school.

“I can tell you, but you have to promise you’ll keep it a secret.”

“I promise!” she said solemnly.

“I’m still trying to _make_ friends.” he confessed. “But it’s hard.”

“What were your friends back in Gotham like?”

“Great.” Oswald said slowly. “Bruce was fun to hang out with. Skyler knew the funniest jokes, and Sofia… Sofia was great at kicking people. And punching them. The was kind of terrifying, but really nice.”

“I hope you’ll make some new friends soon. I’d be sad without Jemina or Lila.”

“Well, at least I have you.”

“You’re so nice.” Charlie sighed dreamily. “I like you. We should get married one day.”

“Alright.” Oswald agreed, knowing better than to take romantic declarations from a kid to heart.

The next day he came back home with a black eye; and Crispin and Eleanor were very concerned.

“There’s this kid in Charlie’s year that keeps pushing her.” Oswald muttered, feeling embarrassed. “So I told him to stop. And turns out his brother didn’t like it.”

They wanted a name - but he didn’t _know_ it, and Charlie for some reason refused to tell her parents the name of the boy who kept pushing her down.

“No!” she said stubbornly. “I’ll not tell.”

“Charlie, those boys have to be punished. They hurt you, and now they hurt Oz.”

“I don’t know his name!” Charlie stated.

The next day her backpack was significantly heavier than usual.

“What did you pack, bricks?”

But she didn’t reply; and instead only smiled.

During the recess Charlie snuck into another part of the building and found the boy who gave Oswald a black eye; and she attacked him. Turned out - she stuffed her pink, glittery lunchbox with stones.

The school called for her parents. Eleanor was in the middle of a surgery; Crispin showed up thirty minutes later, as Charlie was sitting in front of the principal’s office, accompanied by Oswald.

Even though he tried to hide it - Crispin seemed to be proud.

“He punched Oswald!” Charlie said defensively before Crispin said anything. “And he was only defending me!”

“Sweetie, let me handle this one, alright?”

“Weren’t you scared?” Oswald whispered to her. “He’s huge!”

“That’s what you’re supposed to do when you care, right? You defended me. It was my turn.”

“You’re great, Charlie.”

***

Years were passing.

It seemed like his friendship with Bruce really fell apart; but it was alright. With time, Oswald came out of his shell and made some new friends; with time the wounds left by what happened to his parents almost healed. They never healed completely - but at least they weren’t open and sore anymore.

Every year, on the anniversary of his father’s death, Crispin would take him to Gotham; for a few times, Oswald tried to pay his mother a visit - but it was too painful. She never remembered, she never became her old self; he was fifteen when she died.

They said it was a suicide; but all that mattered to him was the fact his mother was dead. He hated himself for his own feelings - because at first… He felt relieved. It lasted for less than a second, this relief, this realization she’s finally free - but it happened. He felt it; and he hated himself for it, he hated himself for it so much he snuck away from home to a shady bar, where a middle-aged woman agreed to buy him a few beers. But getting drunk didn’t help; so after coming home he went to the kitchen and reached for a knife, desperate to punish himself.

Charlie found him in the kitchen, his wrists covered in shallow wounds; and he was sitting on the floor, sobbing.

“I’m so sorry.” she whispered to him, pushing the knife away. “I am so sorry, Oswald.”

Crispin and Eleanor got home a few minutes later; they were worried sick after Oswald suddenly disappeared. Eleanor quietly patched him up; his wounds were too shallow to pose an actual threat to his life.

Crispin sat down next to him, with his back against the fridge.

“I know you’re hurting.” he said; he sounded tired. “And I know this is of no consolation, but… I know _exactly_ how you’re feeling, Oz. It burns.”

Oswald looked away; there was no way Crispin knew about this shameful relief - but it was obvious he cared about Esther.

“You’re not alone, Oswald.” Crispin said quietly. “I want you to remember this.”

“I’m the last Cobblepot now. Everything my family had built… Gone.”

“You’re still here. The living, breathing proof of your parents existing, living, loving. And you’re not alone.” Crispin repeated. “Loneliness is the most bitter poison of them all - but you’re not alone.”

“Thanks.” Oswald muttered, his eyes filling up with tears. “Will… Will you help me with the funeral?”

“Of course I will.” Crispin said softly. “Essie was my friend. I couldn’t save her… So the least I can do is to make sure there’s some dignity to her passing.”

The funeral was small and quiet; after their downfall, all of family friends turned their back on the Cobblepots - if they even had any friends to begin with. The Waynes were already dead, and Bruce wasn’t in Gotham; but Alfred showed up, along with Skyler Hill, both dressed up in black.

“Oswald…” Skyler said quietly, hesitantly; she was still as beautiful as he remembered her - but he didn’t feel anything for her anymore. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah.” he said quietly as she hugged him. “How’s… How’s your family?”

“Bad.” she said quietly, glancing at Schiller-Aberdeens standing nearby. “How are they treating you?”

“They’re great, actually.” he said, feeling awkward; making small talk with his childhood crush just felt… Weird.

Alfred was next.

“Master Oswald.” he said softly; he had more grey hair on his head and more wrinkles on his face. “My deepest, truest condolences. She was… A remarkable woman.”

His voice broke and he looked away for a moment.

“But you seem well.” he added in normal voice. “That’s a relief. I wasn’t sure what to expect when I contacted mister Crispin.”

“Wait- _you_ contacted him?”

“Yes.” Alfred admitted. “The moment your mother was committed to Arkham. I had to do _something_.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” Oswald said with a faint smile, hugging the butler. “That was a good decision.”

After Alfred left Charlie walked up to him and tugged at his sleeve.

“Mmm?” he muttered, glancing at her. “What is it, Cricket?”

He called her that because she was still tiny and slim; she called him Beanpole, because once the puberty hit - he got tall and lanky.

“I’m sorry, Oz.” she said in a very serious tone. “How are you?”

“Don’t worry about me, Cricket. I’ll be fine.”

She reached out to touch his hand, but stopped; she probably remembered how he - rather awkwardly - asked everyone to limit the physical contact to a minimum for a time being. His body was growing up - which meant it was acting very weird - especially when he was tense.

“I took Waddles with me.” she said very quietly, and he smiled; he gave it back to her about two years ago. “You can have him again if you want.”

“I’ll consider it. Thanks, Cricket.”

The time of mourning taught him some new things about himself - he enjoys being drunk and likes pain. Both were good distractions - because the passing of his mother opened his wounds anew.

(And because the hatred coming from relief still lingered, under his skin.)

 


	2. Chapter 2

Shortly after his twentieth birthday Oswald announced he wants to go overseas, to look for his own path in life.

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re wonderful.” he assured the Schiller-Aberdeens. “But I feel like… This part of the globe is suffocating me. Too many bad memories.”

“Understandable.” Crispin stated. “It’s your decision, Oswald - and you have my support.”

Eleanor also voiced her support - but Charlie remained silent.

Oswald sighed quietly, looking at her; she recently turned fifteen. She was growing up; and he remembered this part of his own life well. Overflowing emotions, buzzing hormones, self-discovery; a clusterfuck of things happening at once.

He was also worried about her for another reason: he simply cared about her. He still remembered when they were kids, and accidentally initiated a ridiculous cycle of playground violence, all because a boy caused her to fall down and scrape her knees; but he knew he’s not going to be able to protect her forever. Regardless - she was growing up into a pretty, eyecatching girl and Oswald didn’t enjoy the thought of what might happen to her.

“Will you write to me?” she suddenly asked, bringing him back to Earth.

“Of course I will.” he said softly. “Every day, if you want - and I expect you to do the same. Talk to me about your problems, Cricket.”

And just like that, Oswald’s search for his own path was set; it felt weird, saying goodbye to people who kept him from completely falling apart.

“You’ll always have a place here.” they assured him. “We’ll miss you. Be safe.”

Charlie was the last one to say goodbye; she asked her parents to leave them alone for a minute, because she had an important secret she wanted to share with him.

“I’m all ears, Cricket.” he said, looking her in the eye; for a moment she stood in silence, nervously playing with the fabric of her oversized shirt.

“Charlie?” he asked cautiously. “What-”

She interrupted him with a kiss; she suddenly grabbed the fabric of his shirt and pulled him closer and stood on her tip-toes and kissed him, her eyes shut tight. Her hands were shaking and the kiss was fumbly and clunky; and Oswald was too surprised to react. Eventually, she let him go; her face was red and her eyes were full of tears.

“Charlie-” he said hesitantly; but she only shook her head and ran away leaving him behind - surprised, confused, lost.

***

Her feelings for Oswald were puzzling and frustrating; and they always were there, for as long as she remembered.

At first it was a puppy crush, directed at someone who stood in her defense and cleaned up her scraped, bloodied knees and carried her home; then it turned into something deeply confusing, a weird mixture of longing and amusement, as his body and personality began to change; and eventually - as she began to grow up on her own - it turned into a full fledged infatuation. After finally leaving his awkward phase, Oswald - a boy who entered her life too late for her to consider him a sibling - unfortunately turned out attractive. He was mindful of his diet, and exercised often; and his face was beautiful on its own - and all those discoveries were incredibly frustrating to Charlie’s growing up mind and body. Her emotions were a mess - and the fact her body seemed to have cravings on its own wasn’t exactly helping. Oswald was handsome in this roguish, cocky kind of way many people found absolutely insufferable - and even despite his good upbringing he somehow managed to develop a bad boy charm.

(But he wasn’t bad - he was the best. Or the worst, depends on how you look at it.)

It was frustrating - and she very quickly realized a mere substitute won’t do. She wanted _him_ \- her peers didn’t have much to offer. Not all of them were bad - but none of them was Oswald Cobblepot.

She was an intelligent girl, and read a lot; she had very strong opinions on feminism, femininity, androcentrism, sexuality. But her brain couldn’t outsmart the rest of her body - she had her needs. She explored those needs carefully, slowly and on her own; their friends had boyfriends - but she didn’t want a substitute, she wanted the guy who was doing push-ups in the room next door.

(She saw him exercise more than once; and each time it left her flustered.)

At first - when he announced he’s leaving the Schiller-Aberdeen nest - she felt relieved; but then she realized just how much she’s going to miss him and his presence. His voice, his eyes, his jokes; the way he’d wrap his arms around her if she needed a hug, his smell. She had _feelings_ for him - intense, burning feelings that didn’t go away, no matter how many times she told her friends she’s not interested in anyone, no matter how many times she covered her mouth as her other hand explored the space between her legs.

Plenty people were interested in her - but she was only truly interested in one person, that one person she couldn’t have.

She wondered if he sees her as a sister. Her feelings not being reciprocated due to her age weren’t a problem; she knew relationships between teenagers and adults very rarely end well. No, that was not the problem - the problem was in _having_ those feelings in a first place. Why did it have to be him? Why couldn’t it be a nice girl her age, or a celebrity completely out of reach? Why did it have to be someone she _lived_ with, someone she’d see without a shirt from time to time, and with messy hair and a lazy smile?

(Many people at her school crushed on Oswald; but he seemed to be unaware of it.)

And the worst part was - he was still trying to be her friend, like they were still kids. He’d ruffle her hair, or offer hair a piggy-back ride, or a shoulder to cry on, or he’d take advantage of their height difference; and she both loved and hated when it happened. She enjoyed the fact he still seems to care about her; but hated his obliviousness in regards of the effect those small, physical acts had on her. She remembered when _he_ was a teenager, a beanpole in the making; and he asked her and her mother to not touch him. She’d ask him to do the same, since his touch burned her skin; but she decided to be strong.

It was a weird time for her; her body was shaping itself. Her skin was trying to figure out the whole _radiant_ thing, and her slowly forming breasts were oversensitive and just so painfully _there_. Her periods hurt like hell, her mental health suddenly became fragile and unstable and her personality was shifting - and to top it all off, Oswald was leaving. Oswald. Oz. That quiet, sad boy; that self destructive teenager; that cocky young adult whose personal life was a mystery.

(He never brought a girlfriend or a boyfriend home; but it was obvious he has someone.)

She loved him with her whole heart, she loved him so much it hurt - and at some point she stopped being able to differentiate between kinds of love. Obviously, it was something completely different than what she felt for her parents - but it was so overwhelmingly strong she was afraid of analyzing it, lest it would consume her.

And he was leaving.  
The night before his flight they stayed up late; they talked about nothing and everything. Future plans, comics, deepest darkest fears, how stupid it would be if people had fingers instead of ears; it felt great.

“I’m going to miss you.” she eventually muttered, all wrapped up in a blanket. “God, how the time flies.”

“Right?” he sighed. “It feels like just yesterday I was a scared kid who lost everything… And look at me now. All things considered… I think I turned out okay.”

 _More than just okay_ , she almost said. _You turned out perfect._

But she didn’t say anything; and only sank deeper into her seat. Oswald seemingly didn’t notice anything.

“And look at _you_!” he added. “It feels like just yesterday… You were this spunky kid who asked me to marry her.”

“What?” she asked, blushing furiously. “That didn’t happen!”

“Yes, it did.” he said with a cocky smirk. “You told me I’m very nice and that I should marry you one day. It was adorable!” he added with a quiet chuckle. “It was that day when I pushed that kid for making you trip, remember?”

“Yes, and the very next day his brother kicked your ass.” she muttered, her face still red.

“Yes!” Oswald said with a clap. “And then _you_ attacked _him._ I’m still impressed, by the way.” he added. “He was three times bigger than you… Which means he was probably very average in size. You were a tiny kid.”

“God, I remember. Mom never let me live down all the dirt I got into my limited edition MLP lunchbox. I still have it somewhere.”

“A weapon of mass destruction.” Oswald snickered. “I wonder if you’re still so feisty.”

“ _Of course_ I’m still feisty! You should see me during English classes.”

“God, I’m going to miss you.” he sighed, and her heart skipped a beat. “My Cricket.”

“My Beanpole.” she sighed theatrically.

She didn’t get any sleep that night; they both remained in the living room, and eventually Oswald fell asleep; but she couldn’t, her heart beating too hard, her thoughts racing too fast. From time to time, she’d glance at his barely visible face - and her heart would ache.

On their way to the airport, she decided this is a now or never moment - she had nothing to lose and everything to gain. The next time she’d see him would be god knows when - and she could ignore his emails for a while. She was sure he’d keep everything just between the two of them; so when her parents left them alone for a moment - she briefly stared at him in complete silence, trying to memorize every single detail of his beautiful face. He stared at her attentively, and he started to say something; but she grabbed his shirt and closed her eyes and dived right in, kissing him feverishly. She wanted to do it just this one time; she was sure he’d understand.

The kiss lasted for both a brief moment and an eternity; his lips were warm and he was perfectly motionless when she took a step back, her face burning, his breath still on her tongue.

“Charlie-”

She ran away, as fast as she could, her heart beating so fast it felt like it’s about to jump out of her chest. She made a horrible mistake; she gave in to her impulses and she felt so, so stupid. She went against her ideals, against her reason.

(His lips were so soft.)

She locked herself in a bathroom, where she bursted into tears; her mother found her a few minutes later.

“Charlie?” she asked softly. “Charlie, darling, what’s going on?”

“N-nothing!” she choked out, realizing Oswald most likely didn’t tell her parents what just happened. “It’s… Oswald’s leaving!”

“Oh, honey.” Eleanor sighed. “Can I come in, so we can be sad together?”

“Or go be sad _outside_ , some people need to pee!” someone chimed in angrily.

They ended up sitting in uncomfortable plastic chairs outside, with Eleanor handing her tissues.

“It’s not like he’s gone forever, sweetie.” Eleanor said softly, hugging Charlie. “He’s going to write you, he’s probably going to visit…”

“It’s going to be first Christmas in years without him!” she teared up again. “And he didn’t take Waddles with him!”

( _And he’s my first love and I just kissed him._ )

“Come on, love. Let’s go home, so you can write him a heartfelt email that’ll be waiting for him.”

She spent two hours staring at a blank screen of her computer, trying to figure out what to write. There were plenty of things she wanted to tell him, most of them she expressed with that impulsive kiss; but she didn’t have any idea how to put anything into words, so instead she typed out a single word.

 

_sorry._

 

He answered two days later.

 

**Hey, Cricket,,  
I’m alive! Alive and setting down, though jetlag’s a dick, so I’m still all wonky. Could be better, could be worse.  
What are you sorry about? No hard feelings, really - I was there too. Hormones buzzing, ideals shaping, dumb decisions followed by even dumber ones… It’s all good, really. Don’t sweat it.  
I already miss you, by the way. There’s an Asian shopping centre near my new place. Cute stuff everywhere - your brand of cute. If it wasn’t for me being a financially responsible adult I’d probably go broke in five minutes, after buying out everything I see that reminds me of you.  
Speaking of which - give Waddles a hug from me, alright? I left him, because I figured you might need him more, now that your dashing knight’s gone, too far away for you to use his shirt as a tissue.  
I love you, Cricket.  
P.S. Check under your bed.**

 

She smiled through tears, reading his mail; oh, Oswald. Always patient, always understanding. Suddenly she remembered that late afternoon she found him drunk on the kitchen floor, after he heard his mother died; he was absolutely miserable and teared up as soon as she cautiously put her hand on his shoulder, completely unsure of what to do. They all have been worried sick, since he suddenly stormed out, without telling anyone where is he going; they asked his friends, but no one knew where did he go. And when she was thirteen and confessed that her friend’s brother had been making weird comments about her, and looked at her in a way that sent shivers down her spine - he pursed his lips and hugged her tightly, quietly promising her he’ll take care of it.

And he did, before she told her parents anything; someone gave the boy a black eye and a cracked rib and someone broke his nose. He didn’t make any comments about anyone anymore; and Charlie wondered if Crispin told Oswald the more direct way of solving problems. He was a politician; but he most definitely wasn’t above solving things outside of the system - even though he became a politician to _fix_ the system, so people wouldn’t have to resort to violence. _Law should protect the people, not the other way ‘round_ he’d say; but he was just a one man, who have no means of single handedly dismantling the _boys will be boys_ outlook.

So of course he taught Oswald the more direct way. Eleanor’s ways were subtler; but some lessons need to be taught with fists.

She looked under her bed; and indeed, something was there, a plain-looking box. She smiled faintly; Oswald knew her well, he knew she never looks under her bed. Not out of fear - but out of forgetting there’s an actual _space_ under her bed.

And in the box, there was a framed picture of them, most likely taken by one of her parents. She didn’t remember this moment; he was telling her something, gesticulating theatrically and she was laughing, glancing at him with her eyes half closed. They looked happy and comfortable; Oswald’s profile was sharp and his one visible eye had a playful spark and absentmindedly she brushed his face with her fingertips.

First Christmas after his departure were weird; their family was small, because of complicated relationships Charlie’s parents had with their own parents and extended families, and Oswald’s absence was painfully obvious. Even the gifts and cards arrived late; at least he seemed to like the red scarf she knitted him. She learned how to knit in order to soothe her nerves, to have something to focus on; and she wondered if he noticed she - purposely - picked a wool the shade of her hair, at least according to the friendly lady at the crafts store. Her name - coincidentally - was Esther, as Charlie noticed, when she was waiting for her father to get what he needed. The fact this chipper, friendly woman was named the same as Oswald’s mother, whose death devastated him was what made her decide to try knitting.

“Thank you.” Crispin said with a smile, walking away from the counter; and with determination, Charlie took his place.

“How can I help you?” the lady asked warmly; Crispin patted Charlie on the shoulder.

“I’ll wait outside, I have to make a call.”

“Sure. So.” she said, returning her attention to Esther. “I want to learn how to knit. What would you suggest to a complete beginner?”

“This book.” Esther said, reaching for a _Knitting for Beginners 101_ type of book; one of many, Charlie noticed - but there had to be a reason for her to recommend _this_ particular one. “And those needles. And… Hmm. What would you want to start with?”

“I was thinking about making a sentimental gift.” she said, nervously playing with the fabric of her dress. “For… Someone I like.”

“Oh, I see.” Esther said with a knowing wink. “You have a very lovely hair color. Very vibrant. And scarves… Scarves are simple. Hard to mess up. And we have _just_ the perfect wool.”

“I’ll take it.” she decided, reaching for her wallet. “Thank you very much, I hope he’ll like it.”

“You’re welcome, darling.”

And he did seem to like it; he claimed it’s perfectly soft and warm and long enough for him to look like a very stylish hobo.

 

_is that your style now? a hobo?_

 

**Yes. :D I have to blend in! I can’t wear Gucci, someone might shank me.**

 

_show me!! nothing u ever wear would look worse thank what u wore when u were 15 though. best remember that._

 

He sent her some pictures; and she groaned. Somehow he made those awful clothes work; or maybe it was simply his face. He also showed her his place; way tinier than their New York nest, but also cozier and better decorated than a stereotypical bachelor pad.

And months were slowly passing; and she was slowly working through her colossal crush on Oswald.

When her sixteenth birthday came - he came to New York as a surprise. It was Friday; and her parents told her she can skip school if she wants to. Her grades were very good, and so was her attendance; so she decided to take a day off. Get up late, order a pizza, maybe go to a mall with some friends; but around noon - when she was still in her pajamas - she heard a doorbell.

She opened the door, thinking maybe it’s the postman - but no, Oswald was there, with a suitcase and a wide smile on his face.

“Surprise!” he exclaimed, spreading his arms as she squealed and jumped at him, wrapping her arms and legs around him.

“I couldn’t let you celebrate without me!” he grunted out. “But you’ll be forced to if you don’t let go, you’re crushing me!”

“I’m going to crush you with love.” she exclaimed, not letting go; he was warm and real and _there_. “Why didn’t you say you’re coming?!”

“Because it was meant to be a surprise, silly! Why do you think parents told you to skip school?”

She finally let him go and he theatrically sighed with relief; she stared at him, comparing his actual face to its version she remembered from the airport. Somehow he looked even _better_ , and her heart was beating hard and fast and she wasn’t quite over him - but it didn’t matter, because he was _there_.

They spent the weekend together; she threw a small party for some of her friends, and tried to act like his presence isn’t _that_ big of a deal - but it was, it totally was. Crush or not - he was remarkably important to her and she was glad that even despite the distance he wants to keep her in his life.

***

During the years that followed, they kind of grew apart; but it was natural. They didn’t see each other in person as often as they used to; their emails were heartfelt and detailed - but it kind of wasn’t the same. But she was alright with it; she was sure things will be perfect again once he returns.

And in the meantime - she was pretty sure she finally got over her unfortunate crush. She moved on. Her heart didn’t flutter anymore when she thought about him; she reached maturity and was ready to leave this awkward time of shameful masturbation behind. She never really got into dating, because she seemed to be unable to find anyone she’d be interested in - but it was alright. She wasn’t lonely, she had friends - dating could wait a bit. She had nothing against waiting a bit for the right person to show up in her life; she was patient.

One night - shortly after her twentieth birthday - she got a message from Oswald; she was in college back then, working on her bachelor’s. Turned out two of his friends he made in the UK - Victor and Nora; Charlie recalled them from his messages - are getting married. Oswald was Victor’s best man - and he wanted Charlie to come with him, as his plus one.

Naturally, she agreed; it’s been a while since she last saw him, and the perspective of actually spending two weeks with him sounded nice.

He told her to not bother with booking a hotel, since he actually had a guest room; and she asked him if he wants her to bring him something from the States. In response, he sent her a ridiculously long list; so she laughed and got to preparing. She still had about a month - but she had to talk everything out with her parents and professors.

Finally, the moment arrived; her luggage - due to its size, thanks to Oswald’s list - arrived a few days before her. Oswald sent her a picture to confirm everything was safely in his place - and that he didn’t try anything funny with the padlocks.

The flight was long, and her body felt like she just spent hours in a washing machine; she walked through the airport, quietly groaning and yawning. She didn’t bother with putting on makeup for the duration of the flight; it wouldn’t survive anyway.

Oswald was waiting for her in the arrivals - and as soon as she saw him she knew she’s not _quite_ over him.

He looked beautiful, just as she remembered him; and the bonus scar that showed up on the bridge of his nose only added to the charm. His profile was still sharp and stubbly, his hair were still a mess and his clothes looked like his second skin.

He briefly glanced at her, and she smiled; but he looked away - only to look back at her after a moment.

“Don’t you recognize me?” she asked with a smile; up close he looked even _better_.

“It took me a moment.” he admitted. “I have to say… You’re looking _good_. Positively radiant.”

“Thanks.” she said, feeling her heart skip a beat. “You… You too.”

He smiled; and in that moment - she knew.

_Well, fuck._

***

That was the first time he saw her in over a year - and at first, he didn’t recognize her. It took him a moment - it took him a moment to just fully comprehend exactly how pretty did she become in the meantime. She was always very sweet, even in her awkward, teenage years - but that was the first time he felt a familiar sting of attraction when looking at her.

When he turned twenty, he - very briefly - considered going out on a date with one of her friends; her name was Jemina, she was fifteen. She seemed mature, and it didn’t seem like that big of an age gap; but before making a decision - he had a serious conversation with Crispin.

“Mmm.” the man muttered after listening to his doubts. “Well, look at this situation from your own perspective. You were fifteen not a long time ago. So… Try to imagine how you’d feel.”

And Oswald looked away, remembering the night after he found out his mother died; he ended up in a shitty bar downtown, where he found a lonely woman willing to buy him a few drinks. She was much, much older than him; but there also was a group of girls, about twenty years old, probably students. He sat with them for a while, and their company and their jokes and compliments made him feel a little better; but he quickly became uncomfortable when one of them put her hand on his thigh and called him a _sweet, sweet boy_ and asked him to accompany her to a bathroom.

“Bad.” Oswald replied, looking at Crispin, who nodded.

“Well, here’s your answer. Also, the matter of age aside… Do you even _like_ this girl, Oswald?”

“I’m not sure.” Oswald admitted. “She seems nice, and she’s easy on the eyes - aesthetically speaking.” he added quickly; and Crispin nodded again.

“I know what you mean.” he said. “It’s the same kind of _pretty_ you’d use to describe a statue, or a painting - aesthetically pleasing, but… That’s it.”

“It’s not weird, right?” Oswald asked suddenly. “Me not being sure.”

“Of course it’s not weird, plenty of people are not sure about their actions. It’s a good thing you decided to talk it out first. Tell me one thing, Oswald. Take a look at yourself, at this point in your life - and try to imagine what kind of person are you going to be in another five years. This twenty five years old you… Who is he more similar to?” Crispin asked, slightly leaning in Oswald’s direction. “The current you? The past you? Or is he a whole new person?”

“The current me. I think… I found the right perspective. And myself. I know I’m going to change plenty of things about myself, but… I think I found my core.”

“Let me give you a piece of advice.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Don’t get into relationships with people who are still looking for _their_ core. Try to remember this feeling of not knowing it yourself. And other than that… Go wild, like the kids say.” Crispin stated, leaning back. “Just be careful. And remember - you’re not alone. You don’t have to keep toxicity in your life out of fear of loneliness.”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Charlie said jokingly, bringing him back to Earth. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah.” he muttered, hugging her; she was soft and warm. “So, do you want to go sightseeing or-”

“I’m dead tired.” she interrupted him. “Just take me home so I can recharge.”

“Alright, your wish is my command.”

He took her to his car, and did his best to not stare; she changed so much since he last saw her! She kept her head high, walked with confidence and didn’t mumble - and her face was so _pretty_ he was almost shocked. He always knew she’s going to turn out attractive; what he didn’t expect was himself actually being attracted to _her_. He knew her since she was a kid; but he was sure someone smarter than him already wrote a book about it.

(Maybe it was because he never considered her to be his sister; he never felt like Schiller-Aberdeens are his family. They took him in, and he loved them - but his family was gone.)

And now she was here, in Essex with him; and he promised himself to be decent. Maybe it was just a shock. Maybe it’ll pass. He always tended to feel things very intensively; maybe it was just his dramatic side blowing everything out of proportion.

“So, how was your flight?”

“Uneventful.” she said with a shrug. “No babies on board, which is a miracle. No Dan Cooper either. Did they even find that guy?”

“No, but some people claimed to be him. One did it on his deathbed. That was the last thing he told his wife before dying.” he said, taking a turn. “See, imagine this: your husband is dying and he wants to confess to something with his dying breath. You come closer, thinking _oh, he probably had an affair, but he’s dying, I have to forgive him!_ So you come closer, and he puts his lips to your ear and goes - _I’M THE MAN OF MYTH._ ”

Charlie began to laugh hysterically; eventually she started to laugh so hard she stopped making any sounds and just flailed in her seat, her eyes closed, her face red.

Oswald - partially concerned and partially amused - pulled over and rested his cheek against his hand, looking at her.

“You alright there?” he eventually asked, as tears started to run down her cheeks; and in response - she snorted and wheezed ungracefully.

She looked and sounded terrible. She looked and sounded beautiful.

“O-oh my god.” she eventually choked out, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “I am so tired my brain decided _this_ is the funniest joke I’ve ever heard. Oh my god.” she breathed out. “I think my lungs exploded.”

With her cheeks flushed and her eyes red and the corners of her soft lips still twitching - she looked dreamy and he was a bit surprised when he discovered he’s fighting off the urge to lean in and kiss her. Would she mind? She probably would.

(He still remembered the sudden kiss that happened between his departure; he never mentioned it to anyone, deciding she was probably in an odd spot mentally.)

“Alright, I’m good.” she eventually said, taking a water bottle out of her bag. “God, that was… Something.”

“It’s a wonder no one called the police.” he said jokingly. “It almost sounded like someone’s getting murdered!”

She didn’t say anything, and he glanced at her; her cheeks were red again and she pursed her lips.

(Why? They offended their respective laughters plenty of sounds before.)

“I’m not going to ask you _how’s college_ , because I know the answer.” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “You always were smart.”

“It’s a bit tough sometimes, but I’m managing.”

“But there _is_ one thing that’s puzzling to me.”

“Is it the fact I never talk about dating anyone?” she asked, not looking at him.

“Yeah.” he admitted. “It’s… Surprising. You’re pretty. And also smart and nice.” he added. “But let’s face it - people can be super shallow. So very often… Looks come first.”

“Do you really think I’m pretty?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“You said I’m nice. Nice people don’t play the _trick questions_ game.”

“Of course I think you’re pretty.” he said, his eyes focused on the road. “Beautiful even. I’m not blind, Charlie. Just because two people have known each other for years… Doesn’t mean their sense of aesthetic suddenly disappears. You can love someone with your whole heart - but still be able to admit _they’re not good looking_.”

“Wow.” she said jokingly. “Is _that_ your new hobby? Philosophy?”

Oswald laughed.

“Most of mainstream philosophers are not for me.” he admitted. “What, do you have a recommendation, Miss College?”

“I do, but I like you too much to share my reading list with you. You don’t deserve monads or manichaeism or whatever was that thing Nietzsche was trying to convey. Or Kant. Or Schopenhauer. My god.” she muttered. “ _No one_ deserves Schopenhauer. Hell is just a giant library - and you can only read Schopenhauer. Am I boring you?” she suddenly asked. “You’re not saying anything.”

“That’s because I’m enjoying the sound of your voice. You should start sending me voice messages.” he suggested and she giggled.

“My roommate might not appreciate me recording everything I want to tell you. But, with short parts… It might actually work.”

“Ah, I’ve always known I’m actually a genius. All my ideas are great.”

Eventually they reached his building and got out of the car.

“There’s no elevator.” he said apologetically. “And I live on the third floor.”

“Is a piggyback ride out of question?” she asked and he smiled.

“It’s not, actually. I’m in… Pretty good shape.” he said evasively, for now deciding to keep his illegal delights to himself. “Come on.”

She got on his back, and wrapped her arms around his neck; she was wearing shorts and he could feel the smooth skin of her legs under his fingertips - as well as her clothed breasts against the back of his neck. It was an odd experience - but not an unpleasant one.

“God, I missed this.” she sighed as he carried her upstairs. “Still working out?”

“Of course. You never know when you’ll have to carry a dainty princess upstairs.” he said jokingly and she laughed.

“Carried a lot of girls upstairs, Oswald?”

“A bunch.” he said evasively; it did happen from time to time. “Your bed’s clean though, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Is it comfortable?”

“I don’t know, I never slept in it.”

“Mmm.” she muttered as they reached his apartment and he set her down. “I’m hungry.”

“I can help with that. I’ve heard I’m semi-decent at cooking.”

“As long as you don’t poison me.” she sighed, walking inside and looking around. “Can I crash on the couch?”

“You can crash wherever you want, just tell me what do you want to eat. Caviar’s out of the question.” he added, and she giggled; she always hated caviar, couldn’t stand even looking at it. “Or we can skip the cooking and just order. There’s a nice Chinese place right ‘round the corner. Owned by an actual Chinese couple, which is… A rarity.”

“Alright, I’m game. The wedding’s ready, right?”

“Are you kidding me? It’s in a week, _of course_ it’s ready. I might be Victor’s best man, but… Nora took care of me taking care of things. She was _my_ best man.”

They spent a nice evening together; up until that moment Charlie didn’t realize the bride’s actually Nora Smithy - a dancer whose career Charlie had been following for quite some time now.

“Are you _kidding me_?!” she exclaimed, nearly spilling fried rice everywhere. “How do you know her?!”

“We bumped into each other after a show, she spilled her drink… And it sort of happened by itself.” he said with a shrug, avoiding that part where he bumped into her after an illegal boxing match. He was a contender; she was watching. “And later I’ve met her then-boyfriend, Victor. But back then I didn’t _know_ he’s her boyfriend, I thought he’s her _stalker_. So I hit him. We’re good now.” he added, seeing Charlie’s expression. “Nora nearly murdered me, but it’s all good. Victor loves me, because what guy doesn’t love someone who’s ready to beat the shit out of a stranger in defense of said stranger’s partner?”

“When did you get so violent?”

“It’s all _your_ fault!” he stated and she laughed. “Remember? That kid on the playground? It started a cycle of vicious violence.”

“Well, I ended up beating a kid three times my height, but you don’t see _me_ attacking strangers.”

“No, but who knows, maybe I’ll wake up tonight to see you sitting on me, with a pillow in your hands.”

She laughed and threw a piece of chicken at him; he caught it and put it into his mouth, but it stained his hand.

“Use a napkin.” she said; but he looked at her instead.

“Well, _you_ threw it on me.” he said, getting up from the couch; she squealed and got up as well, ready to run away. “Don’t worry, I know how to get _those_ stains out of clothes. Did it plenty of times.”

“Nooo!” she wailed, running around the couch; he followed. He caught up to her, eventually; and wrapped one arm around her, pressing her into his chest as she laughed and protested as he wiped his hand into her shirt.

“I swear to god, if this _doesn’t_ wash off, I’m going to sue you.”

“Alright.” he said nonchalantly. “I’m sure Crispin will find good lawyers for us both. Trial of the century!”

Suddenly, she yawned.

“Alright, I think this might be it for me.” she stated. “I’m tired.”

“Your room’s right here.” he said, opening the nearby door; the room was kind of small, yes - but it was clean and tastefully furnished. Charlie’s two giant suitcases were on the floor between the bed and a wardrobe.

“There’s only one bathroom though.” he added, watching her kneel down to the bags and open them. “But I think we can manage.”

“Hopefully. Here.” she added, getting up and handing him a gigantic bag, filled with something. “Exclusively American garbage food. They looked at me like I’m crazy, until I told them what’s going on.”

“Oh, you truly are the angel of the lord.” he sighed with satisfaction, seeing Cheez-Its. “Thanks, love.”

“ _Love_?”

“When in Rome, do as Romans do.” he answered, putting his treasure in his room. “It’s still better than _luv_ though.”

“It sounds nice, actually.” she said, leaving her room, carrying a few things. “Alright, so where’s the bathroom?”

“Right here.”

She left the bathroom smelling of strawberries; even with her hair moist and sticking to her head she looked gorgeous.

“I want to see your bedroom.” she said with a quiet yawn.

She fell asleep on his bed; one minute she was nodding and listening to him, and moments later - her head was resting against his shoulder and she was _snoring_.

He picked her up and carried her to her own bed, like he did many times before; but this time it felt different. This time he watched the soft curves of her pink lips and the dots of her freckles and he wished he didn’t know her so well, he wished he could kiss her without making things awkward.

He put her down on her bed, and she instantly rolled onto her stomach; he then covered her with a blanket and left, closing the door behind him. He felt weird; he hoped it’ll pass.

***

It didn’t pass.

If anything - it got worse. They went out for a walk one day, and it was windy; the wind turned her hair into a chaotic mass of curls and locks and painted her cheeks vibrant pink and looking at her Oswald was dumbfounded with how beautiful she is. Her voice was sweet, and her laughter was even sweeter; he could look at her and listen to her for hours, and her very presence made him feel that familiar warmth, that calmness washing over him. Last time he felt it was months ago; and sure, his on-and-off relationship with Manchester Black didn’t end well, since they weren’t exactly compatible in terms of morality - but it started out nice. With this pleasant warmth and the sense of belonging together.

And now he was feeling it for someone who most likely saw him as a big brother of sorts; even though their farewell years earlier was odd. He never brought the kiss up; there was no point to it. Charlie sounded awkward and apologetic back then - and now it seemed like she grew out of whatever was that thing that made her kiss him suddenly.

The week leading to the wedding was kind of tough; he wasn’t prepared to one day look at Charlie and feel his heart skip a beat. And having her stay at his place was both a torture and a delight at the same time - he’d see her in the morning, still groggy, still sleepy, her skin soft and warm, yawning, stretching. He’d see her during the day, energetic, peppy, chatty; in the evening, relaxed, comfortable, cozy. He’d see her and she’d be right next to him - and he had to act normal, like he always did.

But he decided he’s going to just power through it; just two weeks. And then he’d probably have a few months at least to get over it.

“Shouldn’t you organize Victor a stag night?” she asked him one day.

“We talked about it, and there will be no stag night.” he said with a shrug. “It’s… Pointless. He’s _happy_ he’s marrying Nora - and that’s what the reception is about.”

“That’s actually very sweet of him. Usually guys get together and whine about _the last night of freedom_. It’s… Such a dick thing to say.”

“I know.” he sighed. “That’s what my father used to say. Well, in other words - but the point still stands.”

She cocked her head; and he suddenly realized that’s the first time in years he talked about his parents. He thought about them often, even if he didn’t have the strength to visit their graves; but he never really talked about them. If someone asked, he’d simply say his parents died when he was younger and that he was raised by a family friend - and that’s it.

“Are you alright?” she asked him softly; and he nodded quietly, enjoying the tender concern in her eyes and voice.

“I wish my father didn’t die when I was so young.” he muttered. “I bet he’d teach me some useful things.”

“Are you… Angry at him?”

“Angry? No, I’m not angry.” he said quietly. “I know dad had his reasons. He _always_ had a reason, an explanation for _everything_. If I’m angry… I’m angry at whatever circumstances made him see _this_ as the only viable option.”

“Ever thought about investigating?”

“Of course I did, except… There’s no point.” he admitted. “Mom burned his letter, and buried his journals with him. So I don’t even have a starting point. And investigating every person who worked with him… It’d take years. Maybe even decades.”

(At least openly; she didn’t have to know about his alternate personality and his wide web of thankful people he helped. The web, however, didn’t reach Gotham.)

“Tell me something about your parents, Oswald.”

He told her a lot about Esther and Theodore that night; about how unconditional and firm their love was, and how sentimental Theodore was and how it created a harmonic contrast with Esther’s pragmatism. They were a good couple, and they were good parents; Theodore taught him there’s no shame in loving openly, and Esther taught him the same about compassion. They never wanted him to be tough and strong; they simply wanted him to be happy.

He felt happy that night, in his flat in Essex; Charlie was curled up on a sofa, listening intently to his every word and in her presence he felt happy, with his voice ringing in her ears and her eyes on him. The only thing that’d make him happier was the possibility of a kiss, of their fingers intertwined; but for that night, he was fine with just the way things are.

***

“How do I look?” she asked, walking out of her room in a deep blue, pencil dress with short sleeves that accentuated her neck nicely; and she had a beautiful neck, as he noticed.

“Gorgeous.” he said truthfully; and she smiled, brushing her hair.

“Flatterer.” she muttered, disappearing in the bathroom; she finished her makeup as he was tying his tie in front of a mirror in the corridor. He glanced at her briefly, and froze in place; that was the first time he actually _saw_ her with a makeup on.

And good googly moogly did she has a way with it; sharp eyeliner and skillfully applied mascara made her eyes appear bigger and red lipstick drew attention to her heart-shaped lips.

“You look _incredible_.” he eventually said as she smiled nervously.

“Thanks.” she said, tucking a stray lock behind her ear. “Need some help with that?”

He glanced down and realized he’s been standing with his hands on his tie for a while now; it was silk and floral and matched his midnight blue - nearly black - suit well.

“Maybe.” he said, sliding his hands into his pockets; Charlie walked up to him and tied his tie for him, her eyes fixed on the knot, his - on her face.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” she muttered, glancing at him; even despite the concealer and powder he could see her cheeks turn pink. “Nice… Nice cologne.”

He did his best to not stare on her too much that day, and focus on the happy couple; Victor and Nora were a delight and seemed to be happy about finally meeting Charlie. Victor teared up during the vows; just as expected. The blushing bride looked stunning in her flared, white dress decorated with pearls and zircons and a deep red head tie; and Victor was so busy admiring her he nearly put her ring on a wrong finger.

(His family, as Oswald noticed, were nowhere to be seen; they didn’t take too kindly to the news of Victor marrying a Kenyan girl. Victor didn’t seem to care much for their absence; _it’s their loss_ , he stated before the wedding, in the back room.)

“You may now kiss the bride!” the priest announced; and Victor leaned in, but Nora stopped him, seeing the state he was in.

“Oswald, tissues.” she said, just like expected; and Oswald snicked and handed the happy couple a pack of tissues he had in his pocket, just in case _this_ happened.

“This was beautiful.” Charlie stated after the wedding, as everyone was ready to go to the reception; she was supposed to come with Oswald and the newlyweds.

“I love her so much.” Victor said tearfully, as they were waiting for Nora to change into a reception dress.

“I can see that.” Charlie said with a smile as Victor was wiping away his tears of joy.

On their way to Oswald’s car, Oswald took Charlie under her arm; she smiled lightly and he sighed, glancing at her smooth neck and inhaling the fruity smell of her perfumes.

She seemed to be having fun; and she danced with him and he caught her when the heel of her shoe suddenly fell off and she nearly tripped.

“Oh, bother.” she sighed, taking her shoes off. “I can manage indoors, but I’d rather not walk on the sidewalk barefoot.”

“I can carry you.” he suggested; and she laughed.

“In this dress a piggyback’s out of question, Oz.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned around; it was Nora’s bridesmaid, who wanted something from him.

It was a pleasant party, even if far too many people who were out of the loop asked him why didn’t he come with Richard or Manchester. The reason was very simple - neither of them was his partner anymore.

He carried Charlie to the car afterwards, and she giggled as he picked her up and bridal-carried her.

“Oh god, I was expecting something along the lines of you throwing me over your shoulder!” she giggled as he was walking. “This is nice though.”

“Right?”

(She rested her head on his shoulder and her curls were brushing her cheek and she stared at him with a puzzling look on her face.)

“You could set me down now, you know.” she said as he was carrying her up the stairs. “The floor seems clean.”

“You never know.” he said, not yet ready to let her go; she turned her head and looked him in the eye and for a moment he thought he could just lean in and kiss her. He could imagine the feeling of her lips against his, and the taste of her breath; but he didn’t, he didn’t kiss her, instead setting her down in front of his door and reaching for his keys.

He let her in, closing his eyes briefly as she walked past him; she entered her room and closed the door and he could hear her undressing and he rested his forehead against the smooth, cool wall, desperately trying to collect himself.

_Shit._

***

Being around him was absolutely unbearable; she was still head over heels with him. At first, she thought it’ll pass, that it’s just an initial sensation; but it didn’t pass. This persistent, burning tingling, this warmth - it didn’t go away.

If anything - it got worse.

He was so nice to her, so attentive; and she did her best to not stare at him too much, to not trace the features of his - ridiculously handsome - face with her longing eyes. He was irresistible; but the problem was - he wasn’t doing anything to charm her. She fell for him all over again all by herself; and again she felt like a stressed out teenager.

The first night she fell asleep on his bed, as he was talking to her about something; and she woke up in her own bed, meaning _he_ carried her there. She spent a good few minutes after waking up staring at the ceiling and wondering how exactly did he do it.

(Her cheeks turned red and she groaned quietly, imagining being carried by him.)

And during the wedding he looked annoyingly good; as she left the bathroom with her makeup on he was struggling with his tie and froze in place, staring at her like he saw her for the first time in his life.

“You look _incredible._ ” he eventually said, and his voice almost made her melt; and so did the smell of his cologne as she was helping him with his tie.

(She wanted to just grab it and pull him closer and kiss him and to make him put his hands on her and to feel her stubble tease her skin; she wanted it so badly it _hurt_.)

And when he carried her around after her shoe suddenly broke, she wanted to close her eyes and stop the clock, so the moment would last forever; his embrace was firm yet tender, and he carried her effortlessly and she was genuinely sad once he set her down and opened the door to his flat.

She went straight to her room to undress, and she sighed and closed her eyes, briefly entertaining a certain thought; she imagined it’s not her hands unzipping her dress and sliding it off her body, unhooking the clasps of her bra and gently cupping her breasts-

A knock at the door brought her back to Earth.

“Do you want tea?”

“Y-yeah!” she choked out, putting on her sweatpants and an oversized shirt.

“...are you crying?” Oswald asked hesitantly.

“...no.” she said, unlocking the door; he was still in his suit and she forced herself to look away from his untied tie and a partially unbuttoned shirt. “I was mid-yawn.”

“Oh.” he said; but there was still a hint of concern in his eyes.

“I’m going to clean my face.” she said, walking past him. “ _Some_ of us don’t want to look like an Oscar Wilde character.”

“Well, obviously.” he snickered as the turned on the light in the bathroom. “ _Some_ of us prefer to look like Brigid O'Shaughnessy after hours.”

She threw a damp cotton pad at him and he disappeared in the kitchen; good. He didn’t see just how red her cheeks turned.

***

They slept together the night before her flight home.

This burning, distracting sensation she felt when she thought of him didn’t go away; and eventually it overcame her. Those two weeks she spent with him were absolutely wonderful, and she enjoyed every second spent in his presence; and that night she was in her bed, staring at the ceiling. She thought back to the first and only time she kissed him; that feeling of having nothing to lose and everything to gain, that longing. She was a hormonal teenager back then - but not many things had changed.

Impulsively, she got up and went to his room; she knocked at his door, making a decision. _If he’s asleep, I’ll go back to bed, If he’s not… We’ll see._

He opened the door, looking wide awake; he was only wearing sweatpants and she stared at his - beautiful, absolutely beautiful - face.

“What’s up?”

“I can’t sleep.” she said, nervously playing with the fabric of her shirt. “Can I sit with you?”

“Aight.” he said softly, stepping aside to let her in. “Travel anxiety?”

“Kind of.” she said evasively; he walked past her and the back of his hand brushed her thigh. “I guess I just realized I’m going to miss you… Bad.”

“Cricket-” he started to say, turning around; but she scoffed, put her hands on his shoulders and pulled him down, kissing him.

“Don’t call me that.” she whispered into his lips. “Not tonight.”

He didn’t say anything, instead kissing _her_ ; and she smiled and closed her eyes and gave in. She gave in to his lips on her neck and his hand under her shirt and the warm tension building up in her body. It was nothing like the sloppy, awkward makeouts she remembered from high school or quick, male-centric mistakes her college friends complained to her about; he was attentive and the way he looked at her was sending pleasant shivers down her spine.

(His slender fingers played her gently, almost as if she showed him the exact way she likes to be touched.)

She instinctively covered her mouth with her hand when his lips found her breast; but he gently took her hand and moved it away.

“Don’t.” he whispered, his breath soft like a feather on her sensitive skin. “I want to hear you.”

“B-but I’m not quiet!” she choked out, feeling his tongue; and he smirked.

“Good.” he whispered, sliding his hand between her legs, into her undies again; so she left her mouth uncovered, instead gripping at the bedsheets as his lips started to slowly move down.

“Keep your eyes on me, love.” he said quietly, slowly pulling her panties down, gently pushing her thighs further apart.

But she couldn’t keep her eyes on him, on his face between her legs; her face was burning red and she shut her eyes, bucking her hips slightly.

He laughed quietly, but didn’t stop; and she was sure his neighbors are going to have some complaints, since he was very adamant in hearing her call out his name.

(His lips on hers felt like a feverish dream.)

They didn’t talk much afterwards.

***

Before her flight, she wanted to tell him she loves him - but she didn’t, for some reason. Something stopped her. Maybe it was something in his eyes, maybe it was the fact he seemed to not quite be himself; he felt distant. Almost as if he regretted the last night, almost as if he felt bad about what happened.

Maybe he _did_ see her as a sister, after all - even if she didn’t see him as a brother. He wasn’t her brother, and her parents weren’t his parents; but he knew her since she was a kid. Maybe that was the reason.

(And the feelings didn’t pass. She didn’t just want sex; she wanted him to feel same way she did.)

“Is everything alright?” she asked him on the airport. “Between us, I mean.”

“Yeah.” he said; but she knew he’s lying. “Of course it is. Why do you ask?”

“Because you’re uncharacteristically quiet and I’m worried?” she asked jokingly; but he didn’t answer. “Oswald, if this is because of the last night-”

“I don’t know how I’m feeling about what happened.” he interrupted her. “Alright? I really, genuinely don’t know.”

“But you didn’t seem to mind as it was happening.” she said, her smile getting paler and paler. “I thought-”

“I’m not interested in a _friends with benefits_ kind of deal.” he interrupted her again, sounding tired. “Alright? I’m not.”

“But-” she said, her eyes filling up with tears; he interrupted her _again_.

“What?!”

“You know what? Nothing!” she snapped angrily. “Nothing, since _obviously_ you know what I was going to say. You’re right - that’s what I wanted to suggest. Now shove it up your ass. I thought you care about me enough to at least let me _finish a fucking sentence_.”

He wanted to say something, and put a hand on her shoulder; but she pushed him away, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“We’re not siblings!” she said tearfully; some heads turned in their direction. “I never saw you as a brother, Oswald. I thought it’s obvious.”

“Charlie-”

“Piss off!” she choked out. “Last night clearly was a mistake. Goodbye, Oz.” she added, looking him in the eye. “Don’t write to me. I’ll give my parents your regards.”

She turned around and left; nothing was making any sense. What she felt didn’t make sense. What she said didn’t make sense. What she did didn’t make sense.

Nothing made any damn sense; and he didn’t write to her.

Just like she told him to.

 


	3. Chapter 3

They fell out of touch for about a year - all because he didn’t let her speak when she wanted to tell him something.

He was confused. Lost. When she came into his room that night and kissed him, he thought that maybe this will ease the pain he was feeling; but it didn’t. And with each passing moment it looked more and more like _this_ was all she wanted - a night of fun, a taste of a forbidden fruit. He never saw her as a sister; he never _had_ a sister. There was no sibling-like bond between them; there was friendship and trust and love - but they weren’t siblings.

But after they fallout at the airport, after he didn’t let her finish, so sure of his own knowledge of her character - they weren’t anything anymore. She told him to not write to her; and he didn’t, and she never reached out to him to let him know she wants to talk. So he decided to give her space - he did fuck up, after all.

(They both did. They both acted illogically; and now they were out of each other’s lives, even though the memory of her skin was still vibrant in his mind.)

For a while - he acted reckless, trying to forget about what happened. Really reckless.

During her visit, he managed to keep his second life a secret; she didn’t have to know about the Penguin, a gambler, a thief, a con artist and an arms dealer, offering his services to the mistreated ones. Penguin was his little secret; and he was good at covering his tracks. No one would connect the theatrical, vicious semi-vigilante to slightly cocky, definitely jovial Oswald Cobblepot who lived on the third floor of an old building and seemed to have a problem with stable relationships.

(He wasn’t _exactly_ a vigilante. He wasn’t seeking out injustices to fix; but when asked - when offered the right incentive, such as a solemn _I’ll be in your debt_ or _I’ll never forget it_ \- he was more than happy to help. He was an unpaid asshole for hire; for people who _needed_ someone like him.)

His recklessness costed him two things - his relationship with the Fries and his safety. English authorities eventually began to catch up to him; he got too bold, too daring, too brash. He had to lay low; he had to get out of England.

The most obvious option was to simply return home - Crispin and Eleanor had no idea about what happened between him and their daughter. They believed everything’s still fine and dandy between Charlie and Oz; they didn’t seem to suspect anything from the fact Charlie’s never around when he visits, excusing herself with earlier plans or exams or papers to write.

(He didn’t mind, even if her absence from his life made him sad.)

He had to get away from England, stat; and Crispin and Eleanor welcomed him with open arms, his old bedroom still at his disposal.

“Obviously I’m not going to stay with you forever.” he stated. “It’s only temporary. I think I might try my luck in Chicago.”

It felt weird, being back home; and he couldn’t quite fall asleep that night. He was tempted to go for a midnight stroll around the flat, to take a peek inside Charlie’s room she still inhabited from time to time; but he decided not to.

(He didn’t really know what’s going on in her life these days - and he couldn’t exactly ask her parents.)

He found out soon enough - few days after his return Charlie came over for a weekend.

It was a Friday evening, and he was in the kitchen, humming and making hash browns when he heard her come in; his heart skipped a beat when he heard her happy voice. She was talking to someone over the phone, someone named Harry; she told them she loves them and hung up to say _hi_ to her parents.

His eyes were suspiciously wet as he leaned against the kitchen cabinet, resting both hands on the counter, staring at the sizzling pan. His hands were trembling; and the spatula he was holding quietly rattled against the counter.

They fell out of each other’s lives, all thanks to him not letting him speak. He spent many sleepless nights wondering what was she trying to tell him; and now there she was, blissfully unaware of his presence, excitedly talking to her mother about a new professor at her college and about how she swears she once saw someone mix an energy drink into their coffee-

“Hey, Charlie.” he said after he heard her footsteps behind him; he didn’t turn around, instead making sure the food doesn’t burn. “Been a while.”

“Hey, Oz.” she said softly, hesitantly. “Can… Can we talk?”

“Sure.” he said, very tempted to look at her. “And… I promise this time I’ll let you speak.”

She stood next to him, and he forced himself to not take his eyes off the pan.

“Can we just put that behind us?” she said quietly. “That night. The airport. Last year.”

“If that’s what you want.” he said, his feeling a tight lump in his throat. “Then sure.”

(The realization he still loves her was burning and stinging.)

“I missed you.” she suddenly said; and then she sighed.

What is a person supposed to do or say when a girl they loved for two weeks takes them back into her life, only to made them realize they still love her? What is a person supposed to do or say when the same girl mentions being engaged to a guy she met on a day of her return to New York, still heartbroken after someone she deeply trusted didn’t even let her explain herself?

“I’m happy for you, Cricket.” Oswald said, taking the hash browns off the pan. “I really am.”

(He really was happy for her; whether he was happy for himself - was a whole different topic.)

***

He didn’t like her fiance. At all.

And it wasn’t _just_ jealousy; Oswald spent four years navigating the English criminal underworld. He was raised by a socially active politician married to equally active renowned surgeon. He could read people - and it seemed like he’s the only person who sees there’s something inherently wrong with Charlie’s groom-to-be, curly-haired Harold Spencer with coy smile and perfect teeth.

He wanted to think it’s just his jealousy speaking; he still loved Charlie. How could he not? She was kind and sweet and beautiful and brilliant and clever and warm. She was incredible, and his heart ached; and there was something suspicious about Harry. Like he was hiding something; like he wasn’t who he says he is.

No one seemed to share his suspicions - and it was maddening. He felt paranoid; he wondered if that was how his mother felt, back in the day. Maybe it _was_ just jealousy, maybe it was bitterness caused by the fact someone else got to be happily in love with Charlie.

Reentering her life again - as well as having her reenter his - was both incredibly easy and incredibly hard at the same time. It was easy, because they missed each other; it was hard, because he had to be careful. To not let her know. But she seemed to not know; and she seemed to crave his company almost as badly as he craved hers.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” she told him one afternoon, as they were in the shopping centre; they picked a public place to sit down and catch up, since they didn’t want her parents to overhear anything. “I… Feel kind of bad, about not writing to you and just cutting you off.”

“Well, don’t.” he said, briefly glancing at her; she seemed to start wearing makeup more often. “I acted like an asshole. I deserved it.”

“Maybe.” she sighed; and his throat was burning, that’s how badly he wanted to ask her what was she trying to tell him on the airport. “So, what brought you back to the States?”

“I got bored.” he said evasively. “And I needed to clear my head a bit.”

(Someone told the police a bit too much about the Penguin; and Oswald Cobblepot already was in their database, after an an unfortunate night of a gambling bust.)

It felt good, being in her company again; even if it meant bearing the company of Spencer as well.

***

Eventually, Oswald decided to give in to his paranoia - but in a smart way. He started to carry a very plain, unassuming notebook with him; it was where he kept his notes on Harry Spencer.

It did feel odd at first, that first night he sat down to write down what he knew about Harry. Not because of _what_ he was doing - that wasn’t the first time he was keeping a notebook for someone’s potentially suspicious behaviors - but _why_. He wondered if he’d be so suspicious if it wasn’t for his own feelings.

His notes weren’t too extensive - since Oswald decided to be very careful about asking questions and observing Spencer. He had to make it seem natural - especially since he felt like Spencer knows this game of cat and mouse as well.

His coyness and warmth and small signs of affection towards Charlie - it all seemed natural. _Too_ natural. It all happened smoothly - _too_ smoothly. No honest person spends their entire life only acting one way; their behavior changes, depending on circumstances. Everyone has something small that makes them change their mood, even if for a bit. A sudden loud noise in the background, waiter at a restaurant accidentally serving them a wrong order, a small puppy running down the sidewalk - anything. Harry Spencer, on the other hand - seemed to not have anything like this. His shy, polite, warm behavior remained the same, no matter what.

And Oswald _checked_. He wasn’t too proud of this - but he did. He kept telling himself he’s only doing it because of what happened to his family. His father did what he did - for a reason. His mother broke down - for a reason. Those reasons were unclear to him, and he was sure it’ll stay that way forever - but he was desperate to not allow Harry Spencer to become Charlie’s reason.

He’d follow Spencer from time to time. He’d watch his every move, every interaction - and Spencer’s behavior remained exactly the same, as if he was a flat, cardboard cutout, rather than an actual person. He seemed like a person _so_ committed to an act he forgot to give it an actual depth; one aspect of a character chiseled to perfection, instead of a multifaceted mosaic.

But at least he got Harry’s address. He wasn’t sure what exactly is he going to do with it; but it was something.

***

He was about to give up on his paranoia-fueled investigation, when Crispin took them all out for dinner to celebrate something. Probably a political victory; or maybe one of his rivals tripped and fell down the stairs.

(Technically, this would also qualify as a political victory.)

It was a nice evening, only spoiled by Harry’s presence at the table; Crispin picked a good restaurant; and Charlie looked remarkably pretty in her dress eerily similar to the one she wore during the wedding.

(Her neck was still beautiful and Oswald groaned under his breath, remembering how she shivered when he was kissing her sensitive skin.)

“Oh!” Charlie sighed at his sight. “I know this tie, don’t I?”

“Yes, you do.” he said, fixing his yellow, floral tie. “I like it.”

“It’s very nice.” she admitted. “How are Victor and Nora?”

“We… Had an argument.” he said evasively, keeping the details of their falling-out to himself; they saved him from himself. In return, he told them to fuck off - and sadly… They did.

“That’s a shame.” she sighed. “Suddenly I feel awkward about following Nora on twitter.”

“Well, don’t. My fuckups aren’t your fuckups.”

He’d glance on Harry from time to time, notebook heavy in his pocket; it was filled about halfway at that point. He jotted down Spencer’s daily routine, his mannerisms, things striking him as _odd_ , things that just annoyed him. Initially he tried to note his theories as well - but gave up quickly, as those were getting more and more outlandish. He never really got anything concrete, as this would require a more direct approach - such as breaking into his place, going through his stuff, and tapping into his electronics. Only one thing was actually stopping him - and it wasn’t common decency.

No, the thing stopping him from straight up invading Spencer’s privacy even _more -_ was lack of equipment. When he jumped the ship and escaped to USA, he destroyed everything that could potentially lead to him; he only took his signature mask and gloves. He still had his wits and nimble fingers; but that’s not enough to go through someone’s phone.

He was in the bathroom at the restaurant, staring at his own reflection, pondering his options - when he overheard a voice through the narrow skylight, placed above the mirror. He suddenly remembered that this particular restaurant has a meticulously kept inner garden, available to all guests who need some fresh air; and it was located just behind the wall.

The voice, without a doubt, belonged to Harry - except he sounded _different_. For starters - he was speaking with an Australian accent, which was surprising, considering he normally didn’t speak with _any_ accent. And judging from his tone - whatever he was saying wasn’t too nice.

(He wasn’t fluent in Australian English.)

“Garn get fuck’d, ya fucken dog.” Spencer snarled behind the wall as Oswald was taking notes, sprinkling a series of question marks here and there. “I’m not here to fuck spiders, aight? I’m tellin’ ya, this is going to be a piece of piss! That red head rat rooter with hair like a bushpig’s arse should clap a cow’s cunt on her head, so go and dip your left eye in hot cocky shit!”

Oswald finished his transcript of the monologue with a short reminder to break the tirade up into smaller chunks. He had a very vague idea of what did he just hear; but first, he needed a translator. Someone who could explain the meaning of those - very Australian - phrases.

As he was still standing in the bathroom, leaning against the sinks and writing down a - not especially long - list of potential translators, Harry entered the room.

“Writing in the bathroom?” he asked in his normal voice, as Oswald looked up from the notebook.

“I have a soul of a poet.” he replied nonchalantly. “You never know when the inspiration might struck.”

He slid his notebook back into his pocket and turned around to leave; Harry briefly - very briefly - glanced at his pocket and there was a faint, suspicious spark in his eyes, almost too faint, almost too quickly gone to be noticed - but Oswald noticed. That was a look of someone who just noticed a potentially weak spot to be exploited, a potential flaw in defense systems.

Oswald wondered if Spencer sees him as a serious threat to his cover and plans, whatever those might entail. Probably not; after all, he did let his guard down for long enough for Oswald to notice this peculiar _something_ in his eyes. Maybe he saw Oswald as a meek young man from a good home; maybe Charlie told him about his family. Maybe he considered Oswald to be as broken as his parents.

Maybe, maybe, maybe. Those were all just assumptions - and Oswald didn’t have time or need for those. What he needed - was certainty.

(And what he wanted was to know that Charlie’s _safe_.)

***

Oswald’s first instinct was to put up an ad online, stating that he’s looking for an Australian consultant; but that was a remarkably dumb idea. Even if he didn’t sign it with his name chances were Spencer would see it and get suspicious; no, Oswald had to play another card. It was time for him to become the Penguin again.

He destroyed all of his equipment in his basement base back in Essex - but Penguin’s list of friends and contacts remained. He made plenty of friends, back in the day - and according to researchers of the National Chiao Tung University calculated that the average number of acquaintances separating any two people is slightly less than four.

(Oswald found the idea of _3.9 people_ very amusing. Was someone missing a lung? A liver? A finger? What about people with split personality disorder?)

So - he sent an email to some of Penguin’s friends and accomplices, very politely asking them if they happen to know an Australian willing to lend him a hand and a tongue. He was willing to pay; he had some secure, offshore bank accounts where he kept Penguin’s assets, to keep them separate to anything Oswald had to his name.

The responses started to come in pretty quickly; a few people expressed their surprise at the fact Penguin’s alive, stating that British officials claimed they found and identified his body. Some people said _no, sorry, I do know a Polish/Lithuanian/Czech guy though_. He was slowly beginning to lose hope - when he received an answer from the Riddler.

He was a brilliant hacker, who allegedly operated from Gotham; Penguin worked with him a few times, when he needed something de- or encrypted or stolen. He used technology same way wizards used magic; some people said he’s not human, that he’s actually a sentient AI. He loved to play games and to steal secrets; and he eventually found a way of combining his two hobbies into one. His every data heist was a race against time; not a rigged one - but one he’d always win, regardless of who his opponent was.

And apparently - he knew a guy. An Australian, currently residing in Gotham, hiding from the Australian authorities, the Agency, Interpol, and probably a few more groups interested in seeing him locked up. Riddler set him up with a new identity, a name that would lead Penguin nowhere - but for the right price he was willing to give up his client’s real name and whereabouts.

 

**Name your price.  
** _get me a backdoor access to the wayne ent systems. it requires a physical touch, and i’m not a very physical guy.  
_ **I need the Australian sooner or later though.  
** _then it’s a good thing i don’t NEED the access, i simply WANT it. come on, birdie, just give me your word, and in return i’ll give you the KING of the australian underworld!  
_ **Fine. You have my word.  
** _:D_

Moments later, Riddler sent him everything he needed - a name, a face, an address. It was time for Oswald to make a trip to Gotham - and this thought didn’t exactly fill him with enthusiasm.

Last time he was in Gotham was on the second anniversary of his mother’s death; he couldn’t force himself to look at the city he once loved, the city that somehow managed to destroy his parents. But he had no other choice - Harkness was completely off the grid, and could only be reached directly.

***

The city had changed while he was gone; a lot.

Towering over everything was the tower of Wayne Enterprises; and staring at it in silence Oswald suddenly remembered his childhood friends. Bruce, Skyler, Sofia; he wondered what became of them. His own fate could probably be so much worse; yet there he was, in one piece, considered a member of a wealthy family.

The park his parents built wasn’t as pretty as Oswald remembered it; it fell into a state of disrepair. The plants were unkempt and the sidewalks were uneven and cracked; it was painful to look at. But he didn’t have time to aimlessly wander around and be sad; the Riddler gave him the address of Australian’s favorite night club, a mafia joint called the Waterfront. Oswald wondered if Carmine Falcone’s still the king of Gotham; he ran the show back in the day, and he was on a warpath with his father, determined to make city safe.

Eventually, Oswald decided to play a little game with Harkness; he went to the club as himself, not wearing any disguise, except for his coat - the one Charlie stubbornly called _hobo couture_. In right clothes, Oswald didn’t look like a well-off ward of a politician - he looked like a common, no-good crook. Just the kind of person one would expect to meet in mafia-owned nightclub. It wasn’t a particularly elite place; the more people came in and out every night the better, as the rumors said the place was a money laundering business.

The Waterfront was crowded; but he could see Harkness in the far corner, sitting alone on the couch, absentmindedly watching people in front of him.

“Piss off.” he said to Oswald as soon as Oswald walked up to him; but he only smiled and sat down.

“You deaf? Piss. Off.”

“Easy there, George.” he said calmly; and the man didn’t even flinch.

“Not my name.” he said, leaning back. “So fuck off, before I get unpleasant.”

“Penguin has a proposition for you, George.” he said; and that finally got the man’s attention.

“Fuck.” he muttered. “Really? I thought that bird masked freak’s too sanctimonious for the likes of me.”

“People change when their interests do.”

“Aight.” he sighed heavily. “What does he want?”

“He didn’t tell. He only asked me to tell you… To go home.” Oswald said, watching George Harkness. “He’ll be waiting for you there.”

“And how the fuck does he know where I live?”

“Maybe someone sold you out.” he suggested with amusement. “Who knows. But if I were you… I wouldn’t disappoint.”

“Penguin’s a vigilante though. A bloody British gent.”

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions, and the road to justice is paved with broken bones.” he said calmly, feeling a sting of amusement; _that_ was Penguin’s reputation? Not quite what he was going for when he - rather impulsively - created him.

It seemed like Harkness is willing to cooperate; good. Now all he had to do was to get back to his hotel - he rented a room very close to where George had holed up - change into his Penguin disguise and break into the man’s cheap apartment. He already had his way in figured out; he did some scouting earlier today, as well as a mock break-in of sorts.’

On his way out of the club, he accidentally bumped into two young women outside; the taller one - with olive skin and black hair - briefly glanced at him, furrowing her brows; the shorter one - with brown hair, pulled into a tight ponytail - was too busy doing something on her phone to pay attention.

“Sorry, loves.” he muttered apologetically; the taller woman looked slightly like a girl he briefly dated back when he was a teenager - Louise, his first girlfriend. They split up after a few months, and parted ways as friends; and he didn’t really think about her in a couple of years.

He made his way to the hotel, and locked the door behind; he still had at least half an hour to spare.

His mask rested safely in his suitcase, and he calmly put it together; it consisted of few separate parts, for the sake of fooling luggage scanners at airports. _Click, clack -_ and it was done.

He snuck out of the hotel through the back door; and few minutes later he was in George’s tiny apartment. The owner came home moments after Oswald sat down in the only chair in the room; he seemed to be mostly sober.

“Hello, Harkness.” Oswald said as Captain Boomerang turned on the light and winced at his sight.

“Christ.” the man muttered, taking his coat off. “So that weirdo wasn’t kidding. What do you want, Penguin?”

“A few minutes of your time, really. I’ve been told… You know plenty of people from the Australian underground.”

“Well, yeah.” he said with a shrug, sitting on the bed. “I’m out of the loop though. So if your business is about someone recent… Sorry, mate. Got the wrong guy.”

“I need a translator.” Oswald said, pulling his notebook out and opening it on a marked page, where he wrote down what he overheard. “Australian slang is… Odd.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Harkness said, not even moving a muscle. “It’s the age of the internet - and you tracked me down just to ask me about _slang_? Ever heard of Google, mate?”

“You know plenty people. You might as well know… The person who _said_ it. Google won’t help me with that.”

“Aight.” he muttered, taking the notebook. “I can’t read that. S’that your handwriting?”

“No.”

Harkness raised his eyebrows at the part about fucking spiders, but said nothing.

“Aight.” he said as Oswald finished reading. “How literal do you want the translation to be?”

“I’ll take whatever.”

“He doesn’t like whoever he’s talking about. He also doesn’t like whoever he’s talking _to_. There’s a ginger person involved, someone with messy hair… He’s not going to waste time. Something’s going to be easy, because the ginger one’s an idiot, so whoever he was talking to can go fuck themself.” he eventually said, and Oswald’s heart dropped; so he was _right_. “And, as to that other matter, my knowledge of the underground… I think I know a guy.”

“Do tell.” he said calmly, deciding to not let Boomerang know this is a deeply personal matter to him.

“See… _Nobody_ says that thing about fucking spiders. At least nobody I know - and I know a lot of people. Bad, good - you get the picture.”

“Go on.”

“But I heard of someone who _does_ say it. A single person, in all of Australia. Can you imagine? A con artist. With emphasis on the _artist_ part. If he had enough time, he’d probably con the queen out of her crown.”

“Interesting.” Oswald said slowly, taking the notebook back. “And what’s his name?”

“Ah, but that’s a whole ‘nother matter, mate.” Boomerang said with a cunning smile. “What can you give me in return for his name?”

“A promise of not ratting you out to everyone who’s looking for you, Harkness.”

“No deal, Penguin. Come on, mate.” he teased. “I can see this is important to you. I’m sure you can do better than that.”

“Just name your price, Boomerang. I’m not in mood for games.” he said with annoyance; and Boomerang snickered.

“ _Now_ we’re speaking my language!” he stated excitedly. “Look around, Penguin. Riddler _did_ set me up with a new life - but a piss poor one. Pay me, and we’ll talk.”

“..that’s it?” he asked, remembering what did _Riddler_ want in return. “You just want money? That’s it?”

“I’m a man of simple tastes, Penguin.”

“Well, that’s just anti-climatic.” he said with amusement. “I take it a bank transfer is out of question?”

“Yep.”

“...alright.”

There was an ATM nearby, so it took Penguin a short walk in the shadows to get the cash for Harkness; but when he turned around - someone was standing right behind him.

“Jesus!” he called out in surprise, staring at newcomer’s own pale mask and peculiar looking leather outfit.

His own mask was on the ground nearby; he knew better than to use an ATM while wearing the mask of a wanted criminal. Without it, he felt naked.

“I’ve been searching for you, Penguin.” the masked stranger said, their voice distorted - and Oswald was very grateful for the fact the ATM surveillance systems don’t record sound. “Or should I say… Oswald Cobblepot.”

“That’s a nice costume you’re wearing.” he said, trying to hide his anxiety. “Look, I’m in a rush, so-”

“Stay.” the stranger interrupted him. “I want to work with you, Penguin.”

“That’s awfully nice of you, but I’m afraid I have a rather busy schedule.”

“It’s about your family, Penguin.” the stranger said; and his heart skipped a beat. “I can tell you what happened to them. I can give you the revenge you crave.”

“I’m not craving revenge though.” he said, shaking his head. “Naturally, I’d love to know what happened, but… Maybe it’s better for me to not know.”

“...you can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am.” he said with a shrug. “Dead serious, even. What happened to my family, _whatever_ happened to them - it was a tragedy. But, my masked friend… Some secrets should be left alone.”

(He was great at overthinking stuff; or maybe it was just because of the fact he himself had a bunch of things to hide. Such as bribing a drunk Australian to tell him an identity of the only man in all of Australia who says _I’m not here to fuck spiders_.)

“You’ll change your mind.” the masked stranger promised him as he was walking away, thinking about how _weird_ Gotham got during his absence.

“Sure.”

Boomerang was asleep when he came back in; he woke him up by dropping wads of cash onto his face.

“There.” he said, sinking back into the chair. “The name.”

“What name?” he asked; so Oswald - who was starting to lose his patience - punched him. And he was good at punching people.

The name he got - Alexander Krill - didn’t tell him anything; but he did get a physical description of Krill out of Harkness. Hell - he even got a photo. And as blurry as it was - the man looked a _lot_ like Harry Spencer.

“Now, there’s something I’d like to know, birdie.” Boomerang asked, examining his latest bruises in front of a mirror. “Why are you going after him?”

“Mind your own business, Harkness.”

Boomerang was still talking to him when he left, his heart heavy; he got his damn confirmation. He could now proceed with clear conscience; but it didn’t feel good. The mere awareness of the mess Charlie got herself into, of potential consequences - it didn’t feel good. His mind kept coming up with possible scenarios, with more and more ifs and maybes; and he didn’t want to think about it.

He fell asleep thinking about her; and he dreamed of worlds where he wasn’t around to expose Harry as Krill. Those weren’t pleasant worlds; but somehow their paths always crossed.

Somehow she always found her way into his heart.

***

He came back to New York a few days later, after reaching out to some people and buying some things. He was very determined to expose Harry as soon as possible - even though he knew it’s going to break Charlie’s heart. She seemed to be so happy in this relationship, so bright, so bubbly; they called each other pet names and sometimes Oswald would catch Harry glance at the pocket where he kept his notebook.

To throw him off, he bought a second, identical notebook - and filled it with poetry. It came surprisingly easy to him, especially love poems and poems about oceans.

Naturally he did his best to not be explicit; but also not too vague. It wasn’t _good_ poetry - but then again, is there such a thing like good poetry?

(He wrote a lot about the way he feels about color red.)

He slept with the _real_ notebook under his pillow, and started to keep it in another pocket; and it was a long game of cat and mouse, but eventually Harry took the bait and read his shitty, shitty poetry, as Oswald deduced from a slightly misplaced pencil and a missing speck of dirt he placed between pages. He didn’t mind; the one thing he hoped for was Harry keeping his discovery to _himself_ , rather than sharing it with Charlie.

That would be an awkward conversation.

***

He broke into Spencer’s Brooklyn flat at one point, when he knew he’s out and about with Charlie.

It was tiny and dark and perfectly suited his image of a broke, coy guy with a heart of gold, or silver at least; and it looked perfectly ordinary - _too_ ordinary. Oswald knew a thing or two or fifty about hiding things from the prying eyes himself; when Charlie visited him in England he hid all traces of his secret life from her, covering them with semblance of ordinary life, chiseled to perfection. His flat had to look _just_ right; everything had to be in the most logical, unassuming spot - and looking around Harry’s flat Oswald instantly spotted those subtle signs of someone hiding something. _Nothing_ was out of ordinary, nothing at all; and everything looked as boring as humanly possible, with no signs of any personality whatsoever.

“Mmm.” he muttered, standing in front of the only room, looking around. “If I were you…”

He briefly closed his eyes, trying to imagine where would he hide his secrets if he only had this place at this disposal. Books were always a safe bet, assuming one had a good memory and could remember where did he put what; so were loose floor panels, a crevice in the wall, or even bottom of the fridge.

Eventually he found something he’s been hoping for - an old ID, issued to one Alexander Krill. It looked used - but what mattered the most was the photo. There was no denying of who’s on the photo; he knew Charlie would recognize those curls everywhere.

Naturally, he didn’t take anything from Krill’s apartment; but he did take some pictures, as well as left him a small surprise. He bugged his place, making sure he’s leaving the hardware in the darkest, dustiest corners; he also created a makeshift backdoor access to Krill’s electronic devices, making use of his - nearly unprotected - wifi.

Now all he had to do was to wait - wait and see. And maybe figure out a good way of telling Charlie she got engaged to a crook.

God, _that_ was going to be an awkward conversation.

***

In the meantime - he made a new friend. Sort of.

A person reached out to him, a young woman from Gotham - a journalist, named Vicki Vale. His first instinct was to refuse and cut all contact with her - because that was not the first time a journalist was reaching out to him. After all, he was a ward of Crispin Schiller-Aberdeen - a relatively well known politician. His backstory was dark and stormy and tragic; and so was a big chunk of Crispin’s relationships with his rivals. Plenty people reached out to him, wanting to get something out of him; but he knew better than to answer their questions.

The young woman, however, seemed genuine. First of all, she stated she’s not interested in Crispin’s political career; she was not a political journalist. Second of all - she reached out to him and him only. Usually when journalists were looking for materials to use, they bothered both him and Charlie.

(Some more desperate were truly shameless in their attempts.)

The young woman - who introduced herself as Vicki Vale - stated she’s writing a story about his family. By itself, this wasn’t too shocking - the Cobblepots used to be a big name in Gotham. They were one of the founding families; no, what was surprising to Oswald was the fact that apparently this was supposed to be the first news story about them since his departure.

It happened well over a _decade_ ago - their fall from grace, bankruptcy, his father’s death, the shattering of his mother’s fragile psyche. And somehow - no one ever told the story, details of which were unclear even to Oswald himself.

(He never really felt the urge to figure them out; that was his old life. He couldn’t spend his life living in the past, in a tragedy of old.)

He agreed to meet with Vale in a cafe downtown - she was running some errands in New York, and first wanted to get to know him a little, before potentially inviting him to Gotham for some longer talks.

“Mister Cobblepot!” she called out to him as soon as he entered.

It took him a moment, but eventually he recognized her as the shorter woman he bumped into as he was leaving the Waterfront; he always had a spectacular memory. He wondered if she remembers him as well, and if yes - if it’s going to lead to trouble.

“Miss Vale.” he greeted her, sitting down at the other side of the table. “I have to say, your proposition was… Surprising.”

“And so was the fact you accepted.” she admitted. “You’re very… Reclusive.”

“I was taught to appreciate privacy.” he said with a shrug. “Crispin and Eleanor value it a lot.”

“Crispin and Eleanor? Not… Mom and dad?”

“They’re not my parents.” he said, cautiously picking words. “Family? Definitely. But… Not my parents.”

“No, I understand. The bonds formed between members of a chosen family tend to be a bit more… Complex than those dictated by blood. But we’re not here to talk about _them_.” she added. “You seem to be living a good life, mister Cobblepot.”

“That’s because I am.” he said with a shrug. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“In your email, you said no one had ever written an actual story about my family.” he said, watching her face attentively. “And I’m not saying you’re lying - in fact I _know_ you’re not lying. I checked the online archives, and… Nothing. How come?”

“To be honest… I was hoping you might be able to help me find an answer to this.” she said and he raised his eyebrows. “Because it _is_ puzzling, isn’t it? One of the biggest families crumbles, their fortune disappears, their only heir leaves the city… And somehow no one talks about it. That’s one hell of a mystery to solve.”

“Yeah.” he said slowly. “It is.”

They talked for a few hours - mostly about his earliest childhood memories. But those were old, and partially repressed; and eventually they decided it might be a good idea for him to come to Gotham for a few days at some point, to maybe try and jog his memory a bit.

“I’ll reach out to you soon, to figure out a date.” she said, closing her notebook. “I think we might be able to get to the bottom of this.”

“In the meantime, you could try your luck with Bruce Wayne. Our families used to be close.”

“You two also used to be close.” she pointed out. “But you haven’t spoken in years. Why?”

“Life.” he said shortly. “I was trying to put it all behind me. And Bruce? His own parents were murdered shortly after I left. Neither of us was in good shape for a long distance friendship, and so… It died out.”

“And haven’t you thought about reaching out to him?”

“I did, but… We’re both very different people now.” he said, feeling a bit uneasy. “Now he’s the serious one, while I’m the carefree one.”

“Oh yeah.” she said with a knowing smile. “Because serious people don’t visit establishments like Fish Mooney’s Waterfront, do they?”

She laughed at the sight of his shocked face; she then reached out and gently tapped him on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry.” she said with a reassuring smile. “Your secret’s safe with me. After all… I was there too.”

And thus began his odd relationship with Vicki Vale, a journalist investigating the fate of his family; she seemed to be very dedicated to uncovering the truth, even though there wasn’t a lot to go on. His parents didn’t leave any clues behind, and he didn’t really know anything of substance; he was just a kid when it happened. Kids usually don’t know the identities of people their parents make business with; and Oswald was no exception. Theodore and Esther were both very adamant in letting their son be a child for as long as possible; he never learned any secrets, any potentially damning details - and then it was too late for him to learn anything.

That didn’t stop Vicki; she was remarkably persistent - and kind of fun to be around, actually. She was clever, snarky and very theatrical - and after some time Oswald realized he’s actively craving her company. He started to actually look forward to his trips to Gotham - even if nothing of substance ever came out of any of them. Naturally he had to decline from time to time; he was still monitoring Spencer, waiting for him to say something truly damning.

But, all in all - he started to spend more and more time in Gotham. He still remembered the masked weirdo who cornered him one night, claiming they can give him the revenge on whoever destroyed the good name of his family; but he never saw them again. Maybe it was just a stress-induced hallucination. Maybe it was something in the air. Gotham was famous for its masked freaks and almost charmingly creative mobsters; maybe someone nearby mixed wrong substances together.

Gotham as he remembered it was practically gone; he remembered it as relatively safe, a lot brighter - and also a lot smaller, since he never visited the majority of districts. Vicki - in between sessions of squeezing every last memory out of his brain - showed him around; for example she introduced him to Fish Mooney, the woman who was running the majority of Carmine Falcone’s nightlife empire. The two seemed to be on good terms; and Oswald quickly decided Fish is an interesting person. She was very sultry, and kind of demanding; but at the same time she did it so charmingly he didn’t really mind being bossed around by her.

They were good friends before he knew it; and that’s how he met Ella.

***

Fish Mooney wasn’t just an official owner of a certain number of nightlife-focused establishments; she was also a madam of sorts, employing a wide range of - mostly young, in their late twenties - people from all around Gotham who wanted to try their luck at sex work. Officially they were all waiters, or dancers, or bartenders - for the sake of mayor Hill, who seemed to not be too fond of the very idea of sex workers. Fish cared about her subordinates; all she asked for in return for protection and safety were loyalty and a small cut of their earnings. She was taking care about their medical needs, as well as paperwork; all in an attempt of giving those young people a semblance of safety and stability, even when working for mafia.

Ella was one of many young women Fish watched over; Oswald met her one night after another session with Vicki Vale. He was sitting in a bar somewhere downtown, trying to remember what time does his train home leave - when she sat down at the other side of the table, not even bothering to ask if the seat’s taken.

(There were plenty of free seats in that bar.)

“Hey, handsome.” she said to him with a cheeky grin, and he glanced at her; first thing he noticed were her red hair, longer and less curly than those of Charlie - but the shade was nearly identical. Only after that he noticed rest of her features - big, grey eyes, narrow lips and a button nose. Her face was slim and reminded him of a fox; and she most definitely was pretty.

“Hello, beautiful stranger.” he said, deciding to play along; but she laughed and shook her head.

“I’m not a stranger.” she said. “I’m one of Fish’s girls.”

“Oh really? I don’t think I’ve seen you at the Waterfront.”

“That’s not where I work.” she said with a sly grin. “The Iceberg. I saw you there last night.”

She winked at him, and he cleared his throat; the Iceberg was a small, well-hidden fetish club Fish owned, its location and a passcode only revealed to a selected few - and thank’s for Fish’s sympathy for him, he was one of those lucky people. He had plenty of free time on his hands; which is probably why he gave in and allowed Fish to teach him about the more formal side of dominance and submission.

He had the basics down, thanks to his ex - but Fish was teaching him much, much more. Those were very… _Absorbing_ evenings - which might explain why he didn’t remember seeing the ginger girl around.

“You look good on your knees.” she said, very matter-of-factly. “The name’s Ella, by the way.”

“Pretty name for a pretty face.”

“Haven’t heard _that_ one before.” she said, rolling her eyes; and he laughed.

Before long, they were on their way to his hotel room; she was pretty and had a free night - and he had a fat wallet and heart filled with painful longing. It was a good arrangement for both of them; in the elevator she asked him who does he want her to be.

“And be honest, alright?” she asked, playing with his tie. “It’s supposed to be pleasurable. I promise I won’t judge. Besides… Nothing you tell me will be weirder than a guy who wanted me to be his mother.”

“Wait, what?!”

“I know, right? I called him son and gave him a pacifier and spanked him, because this… Well, it is fucking _weird_ , but it’s not unheard of. But then he told me he wants to impregnate me, so I can breastfeed him.”

“Was his name Oedipus?”

“I asked him the same question! But no, he told me to call him _Steve_.”

He laughed; and told her to be chatty and a bit cocky and maybe just a bit flustered. He didn’t call her by another woman’s name, or told her to flip onto her stomach, so he can pretend there’s someone different under him; and maybe that was why his heart hurt.

He slept with her a few more times during the following weeks; but with time his visits to Gotham became rarer and rarer. Eventually, Vicki’s investigation reached a dead end; there simply was nothing more for him to tell her, nothing more for him to remember.

She promised him she’ll reach out to him as soon as she finds a new lead; and he made the same promise. Maybe Crispin knew something? He was, after all, a politician; maybe it was time for them to sit down and have a talk.

***

“I actually did try to investigate a bit.” Crispin confessed to him one evening. “But… I’m afraid it brought more harm than good.”

“How so?”

They were sitting in Crispin’s home office; it reminded him of his family’s private library back in Gotham, with its dark, wooden panelling, heavy furniture and an obligatory fireplace. They were sitting in front of the fireplace in comfortable chair; Oswald was holding a glass of whiskey, and Crispin - who preferred to be as sober as possible - had a cup of tea. Atop the fireplace there was a row of framed pictures; and on the far right end of the row - a picture of his mother, grinning and covered in mud.

“I was reckless in my investigation.” Crispin said with a sigh, reaching for the photo. “And suddenly… All the leads turned into dead ends. Suddenly nobody knew anything anymore, suddenly nobody remembered, suddenly all the paperwork went missing. And I couldn’t dwell on the subject.” he added, turning his head in Oswald’s direction and handing him the photo of Esther. “They reached out to me, people responsible for this. And they made one thing perfectly clear - either I give up… Or they’ll come for you.” he said with a sigh. “And you can hate me for it, but I gave up. I couldn’t risk losing you same way I lost Essie. I couldn’t risk failing her like this.”

“No hard feelings, Crispin.” Oswald said softly, staring at his mother’s happy, carefree face. “At least you tried.”

“I did manage to find out a few things before they caught up to me.” Crispin eventually said. “Not a lot though.”

“Well, I’m all ears.”

“The man known as Carmine Falcone was involved.” Crispin said, and Oswald sighed; that was not a good lead. Partially because _of course_ he was involved, one way or another, so it was a bit like saying _the water is wet_ ; and partially because Oswald used to be friends with Carmine’s daughter, Sofia. She was a black sheep of sorts, due to the bad blood between her father and every decent person in Gotham - but Oswald and his friends didn’t care about politics and morals, they simply wanted to play hide and seek with Sofia, who was lithe and agile like a cat. Sofia was a good friend, even if a very quiet one; and he wondered if her silence was a result of her having a deeper knowledge of her father’s machinations.

“That’s not a lot to go on.” Oswald said, shaking his head. “Carmine Falcone’s involved in everything. That’s just the way things are in Gotham. My dad wanted to change it… And look at how well it went.” he added grimly.

“I figured that much.” Crispin sighed. “I only managed to get to some surface level facts. Those bastards… They covered their tracks well.”

“You’re just a one man, Crispin. And Falcone has an empire. The Falcone family has friends everywhere - in the elite, in the office, on the street. My family wasn’t the first one who was destroyed.”

“Your mother would be very proud of you, you know.” Crispin said, glancing at him. “You didn’t become bitter and resentful. She’d love that.”

“Mother always said there’s no point in dwelling on the bad.” Oswald replied, his eyes suspiciously wet. “Now I know she kept saying this because of her illness, but… She was still right.”

“Yes, Essie was a brilliant woman… And yet she made the same mistake your father made.” he sighed. “She trusted wrong people.”

“Some people are wolves in sheep’s clothing. You can’t blame a prey for being caught by a predator.”

“Let’s drop the poetic metaphors, Oswald.” Crispin pleaded and Oswald laughed. “Of course you’re right. I’m not blaming your parents for what happened to them. But that’s just how the language victimizes people - someone falls into a trap, passively. The trap isn’t to blame… Even though someone placed it there.”

Oswald quietly nodded and put the photo back. The world was filled with traps; least he could do was to make sure people close to him don’t end up with a leg caught in a bear trap.

Finally - after weeks of watching and listening and tracking and plotting - Oswald gather enough undisputable evidence against Harry to confront him, to get rid of him. To accomplish that, he used George Harkness again; Boomerang claimed they’re on good enough terms to not shoot each other on sight.

(Oswald figured that in Australian terms it means they’re basically soulmates.)

Everything was set; Boomerang reached out to Krill, claiming he needs his help, asap. He picked abandoned docks as their meeting place; secluded, with lots of dark corners to hide in in case of unexpected guests..

Boomerang didn’t seem to be too heartbroken about betraying his companion’s trust.

“He had it coming.” he said with a shrug. “Just remember, Penguin… You owe me one.”

“Just don’t stab _me_ in the back before I get to pay you back.”

Boomerang only laughed and patted him on the back, before going walking away.

The night of the meeting had came; and Oswald was waiting in the shadows, leaning against a damp, filthy wall.

Finally - his guest of honor arrived. He looked annoyed - nothing like the ever-so-apologetic, soft spoken Harry.

“Georgie?” he called out, looking around. “Where are you, you cunt?”

“George’s not coming.” Oswald said, walking out of the shadows behind Krill. “I’m here though.”

“Oswald?” he asked, turning around and immediately putting on his flat, gentle persona. “Why-”

“Cut the crap.” Oswald interrupted him. “ _Alex._ ”

Krill flinched slightly; so slightly Oswald almost missed it. In a blink of an eye, his expression and posture changed; he looked at Oswald with a cunning smirk and a cold spark in his eyes.

“Oh, boy.” he said mockingly, crossing his arms. “So I’ve been found out.”

Oswald reached into his pocket, closely watching Krill’s face - and he didn’t have to wait long for the first cracks to appear in his mask of fake confidence.

“I’ve heard you that night in the restaurant, you know.” Oswald said, pulling his _real_ notebook out of his pocket. “But to be fair… I knew you’re sleazy the moment I saw you.”

He threw him the notebook; and Krill’s hands were shaking so badly he initially dropped it.

Oswald watched him pick it up with his hands in his pockets.

“That’s quite a dossier you gathered on me.” Krill said; his voice was trembling, and with amusement Oswald realized the crook’s _afraid_. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know.” he said, deciding to play with him a little. “What can you offer me?”

“Fifty fifty, if you don’t rat me out.” Krill said instantly. “How ‘bout that?”

“Mmm… No.” Oswald said with a shrug. “I have a better deal for you.”

He threw Krill a backpack.

“I want you to disappear.” he said calmly. “Right now. You got some clothes, some money, new identity. I want you to take out your phone, text Charlie, tell her you never loved her and only used her for her money, and then I want you to give me your phone.”

“W-what, that’s it?” Krill asked, already typing. “You’re going to just let me go?”

“You said it yourself - I have a _very_ comprehensive dossier on you.” Oswald said, taking Krill’s phone from him. He took the SIM card out and broke it into two. “And I’m going to use it, if I ever see your mug anywhere near her or her family.”

“And that’s a deal, mate.” Krill assured him solemnly, picking up the backpack. “That cunt’s never going to see me ever again.”

Oswald shot him a tight-lipped smile.

“Oh, Alex.” he said quietly, as Krill was walking past him. “You dumb fuck.”

“What?”

He wasn’t prepared for a physical assault; and he wasn’t a good fighter. It was obvious he heavily relies on his silver tongue to get him out of a fight; but no amount of lies and promises and pleading could get Oswald to stop.

Eventually, he did stop - when Krill was a whimpering, wheezing mess. He could barely see, he lost a few teeth, his nose was broken, and Oswald was pretty sure he broke his ribs. He looked pathetic; but Oswald wasn’t quite finished.

He knelt down next to him, staring at him.

“She loves you.” he eventually said. “Which was why I wanted to let you live. But, my dear Alexander…”

He grabbed the whimpering man by the collar of his shirt and dragged him across the filthy floor, towards where a wall used to stand; it was gone now, like many other walls in those docks. And under the edge of the dark, abandoned building - was Gotham River, deep, dark, mysterious and very, very possessive.

“You don’t deserve to be loved by her.” Oswald eventually finished, staring at dark waters underneath. “You simply don’t deserve to be saved by her love.”

He pulled out a knife - an ordinary, cheap switchblade, mass produced by a nearly nameless manufacturer - and stabbed Krill in the neck a few times. That wasn’t the first time he had someone’s blood on his hands; but it definitely was the first time he killed someone.

It didn’t feel bad. It didn’t feel quite good either; and after he threw Krill and the blade into the river, Oswald simply felt tired. He looked at his bloodied gloves and sighed; that was not his ideal Sunday.

His phone was buzzing in his pocket; so he pulled the gloves off with his teeth, tasting Krill’s blood. It tasted normal; nothing like bitter poison he expected.

He threw the gloves into the river, and fished his phone out of his pocket; it was Charlie. He stared at her contact photo for a moment; she looked so happy in it, so optimistic, even though moments after the photo was taken the bubblegum balloon she was blowing popped and her whole face was covered in pink gum.

“Hey, Charlie.” he said after picking up; but he only heard muffled sobs.

“Charlie?” he repeated; and his concern was genuine, because for a brief moment - he forgot about what he just did.

“C-can you come?” she eventually choked out. “P-please…”

“Charlie, what’s going on?” he asked, walking towards the exit; on his way out he picked out the abandoned backpack he originally prepared for Krill. For a moment, he considered throwing it into the river as well; but it was a good, sturdy backpack.

So instead he only threw its contents into the river.

“Of course I can come.” he said softly. “What’s going on? Are you safe? Where are you?”

She was wailing and sobbing so hard she could barely breathe; so he asked her to text him instead, his own heart breaking.

_It was for her own good. This is better. This is better. This is better._

He had to tell himself that quite a lot of times in order to fully believe it.

 


	4. Chapter 4

The whole thing with Harry - it took its toll on Charlie. Broke her heart - and Oswald’s own heart was breaking when he saw the consequences of what he did.

He kept telling himself - this was the better option. Krill would break her heart sooner or later anyway; and this way Oswald maybe even saved another hopeful girl from this monstrous, devastating heartbreak. He kept telling himself that - but he didn’t quite believe it.

She was devastated; and the least he could do was to be there for her. He tried to not feel guilty; but it was stronger than reason, when he saw the dark circles under her eyes and saw the way the corners of her mouth twitched before she’d start crying again.

They were all devastated; and Oswald spent many sleepless nights staring at a ceiling, telling himself he did the good thing. That in the long run - everyone will be better off that way.

“I’m so sorry, Cricket.” he’d whisper, taking trembling Charlie into his arms. “I’m so sorry.”

And he meant it, he really did; he was sorry for the fact someone like Krill found his way into her life.

After a few weeks, she calmed down a bit; she was still heartbroken - but at least she started to eat again. To function.

(For the first few days, she refused to eat or bathe.)

Crispin confronted Oswald about a month after Charlie received the last text from Harry.

“Is everything alright?” Oswald asked, walking into his office; Crispin was standing by the window, quietly staring at the streets below.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while now, Oz.” he eventually said, turning around with his hands in his pockets. “And even as a politician… I appreciate honesty. So I’m going to be honest with you. Please, close the door.” he added. “I don’t want Ellie to hear this.”

Oswald closed the door and walked up to Crispin, who returned to looking out of the window. Eventually the older man sighed and took his reading glasses off.

“Did you have anything to do with what happened with Harry?” Crispin asked quietly, not looking at him.

Oswald turned his head and looked at him; at the man who took him in, who saved him from drowning in a sea of bitterness and despair. Crispin was a good man, a good husband, a good father - and a good friend, both to Esther and to Oswald.

He seemed tired.

“Yes.” Oswald eventually said.”Crispin, I… I had _everything_ to do with what happened.”

Those words didn’t come out easily; and he said them so quietly he barely heard them.

But it was enough.

“I just want to know one thing, Oswald.” Crispin said quietly, his voice trembling. “What he said… Was it true?”

“Yes. I… Accidentally overheard him, one night. Then I did some digging, and then… I confronted him.”

“Do you have proof? Evidence?”

“Tons of it.”

“Then I believe you.” Crispin said quietly. “I’m getting old, Oswald. Old and foolish.”

“I guess I did learn a thing or two from the mistakes my parents make.”

“Just as long as it doesn’t make you only ever see the worst in people.”

“The worst? No. It does make me cautious though. I suppose it’s a good thing, after all.” he added with a sigh. “I’m bit of a loner, but that’s not a high price to pay for a sense of security.”

“You grew up to be a good man, Oswald.” Crispin said; and Oswald felt a lump in his throat, thinking about whimpering, wheezing Krill curled up on the ground. “Don’t ever forget that. You could easily become bitter and cold and violent - but you didn’t.”

“You never let me.”

“And I don’t regret it.”

***

Very slowly, Charlie was getting better, bit by bit; there was still plenty of sadness in her eyes and she wasn’t as bubbly as she used to be, but Oswald could see the faint glimmers of her old self underneath this pale, heartbroken wreck.

And every day, he looked at her and wondered if this is the right moment to tell her the _whole_ truth about Alexander Krill - and every day he decided that no, not yet. Her heart needed its time to grieve; and he understood. His heart also needed time to grieve, all those years ago; so he saw no point in pushing her to _get over it_.

“How are you so patient with me?” she asked him one night, in the kitchen; he was making her french toast and she watched. He liked having her eyes on him.

“You went through a terrible heartbreak.” he said, reaching for his favorite whisker. “That’s what friends are for.”

( _and also i love you and it’s all my fault_ )

“I keep wondering… Why did this happen.” she told him the same night. “Did he plan meeting me that day, on the airport?”

Oswald nodded quietly; he wondered the same thing. He thought about it a lot, over and over again; how much of this was planned? Did Krill intend to prey on her temporary vulnerability, caused by their argument? Or was it a heat of the moment decision for him, a criminal now-or-never?

He thought back to the night he spent with Charlie before her flight. He thought about it a lot; he remembered every detail, every sound, every kiss. Neither of them ever brought it up; and he once tried to relive it with Ella, but to no avail. Ella was a wonder, and if customer ratings were a thing in her profession he’d sing praises - but she simply was not the person for whose touch Oswald yearned.

“Maybe.” he said, avoiding looking at her. “Things like this… Don’t happen by itself.”

( _especially considering he had a co-conspirator._ )

“And you know it first-hand.” she sighed. “This is a nightmare.” she added, her voice trembling slightly. “I suddenly… I don’t trust people anymore.” she finally confessed tearfully, as he sat in silence. “Because I have no way of knowing who’s genuine, and who’s just like him. I feel like… Everyone’s hiding something from me.”

She choked the last few words out, and burst into tears; unsure of what to do Oswald moved closer to her and she instantly rested her trembling head against his chest, crying.

“But at least I have you.” she eventually said, her voice muffled by his arms. “Right?”

“Of course.” he said softly, his heart heavy, so heavy it felt like he’s about to drown in her tears.

“Please don’t ever lie to me.” she whispered to him tearfully. “Please don’t use me. Please. Not you.”

“You’re the last person on Earth I’d ever lie to, Charlie.” Oswald lied; and those words tasted like bitter almonds, like sulfur, like ash.

What he did, he did for her own good; it was all for her.

She simply didn’t have to know.

***

He was hoping to soon be able to put everything behind him; but then, when he was about to forget about her - Vicki Vale contacted him again, claiming she finally found something. Something big, something she needed him to see. It sounded urgent, and desperate; so he agreed to meet her as soon as possible, not really paying attention to the fact she asked to meet him in the same docks where he killed Charlie’s fiance. From what he heard, it was a very frequently used place in regards to shady business; not everyone was Carmine Falcone, who had his own ivory tower.

It was a windy night, and the sky was clear; Vicki Vale was waiting for him, nervously shuffling in place, tightly wrapped in her coat.

“Finally!” she said at his sight. “I thought you’ll never come.”

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“I think I know what happened to your family.” she said, straight off the bat. “I have a theory outlined, now… Now I just need some evidence to fill in the blanks.”

“And _that’s_ why you called me here?” he asked tiredly. “To tell me you have a baseless theory? Vicki, as much as I appreciate your dedication-”

“I’m not finished!” she interrupted him angrily. “I know where and how to get this evidence. I also know how to put it to a good use. I did some cross-referencing, some interviews, some snooping around… The same exact thing happened to a lot more people.” she said; she was talking very quickly, as if she was reciting memorized lines. “The fall from grace, mysterious suicide, sudden mental breakdown. It happened a lot of times during the years, all across Gotham - and then everything suddenly came to a stop with the death of Thomas and Martha Wayne.”

“You’re joking.” he said slowly. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m serious!” she bursted. “I’m fucking serious, alright? They destroyed _countless_ families, they destroyed _countless_ lives! You can’t _imagine_ the suffering they caused.” she added hoarsely. “The pain, the despair… You ended up with a nice, cozy surrogate family. But not all of us were so lucky.”

“Alright, this is enough.” he said, turning around, ready to leave; but she grasped the sleeve of his coat.

“Listen to me!” she said angrily. “Or I will _make_ you listen.”

“Vicki, you’re crazy.” he said, trying to get her to let go of his sleeve. “You need help.”

“What I need… Is revenge.” she said very quietly; and he froze in place, thinking back to the masked stranger who ambushed him months ago, when he was getting cash to bribe Boomerang. “Oh! Did you connect the dots?”

“That was _you_?!”

“That was Lady Arkham.” she corrected him, finally letting go of his sleeve. “Children who suffer tend to grow up to be _very_ bitter adults, Oswald. You managed to avoid this suffering… But I still want you in.”

“But I’m not interested.” he said desperately. “I don’t want to have _anything_ to do with you.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m only partially interested in Oswald Cobblepot.” she said, shooting him a tight lipped smile; and his heart dropped. “The one who interests me the most… Is Penguin.”

“Who?” he said, trying to play dumb; but to no avail.

“Please.” she said mockingly. “Don’t try this with me. I did my homework. I _know_ you’re the Penguin. You escaped the English police… Just to fall into my web. And, Penguin… You’re everything I need. Charismatic. Driven. Clever. Efficient. I need a right hand man, you see.” she added impassively. “And you’re _the_ most perfect candidate. And as for Oswald… I’m sure I’ll find some use for you as well.”

“And what if I refuse?”

“I was hoping you’d ask that.” she said with a smirk; she pulled out her phone and handed it to him.

He could see pictures of himself - in company of Ella. Walking to a hotel, giving her money.

“What, that’s it?” he said, giving her her phone back. “Pictures of me with a ginger call girl?”

“They do start to look oddly sinister when analyzed in relation to… This.” she said, opening another file; and this one made him froze.

It was a recording - slightly blurry and shaky, but of good enough quality for the viewer to be able to recognize faces. It was a recording of Oswald and Krill; it was long - and ended with Oswald picking up the call from Charlie, after getting rid of his bloodied gloves.

“She can’t see this.” he said hoarsely; his hands began to shake. “She can’t.”

“And she won’t, as long as you’re a good boy and cooperate.” Vicki said with a warm smile, taking her phone away from him. “Oh, and Oswald… Don’t try anything silly, like attacking me. You’re not going to like what might happen if I disappear tonight.”

“Fine.” he breathed out; he felt trapped - and there was only one way out. “You have me _and_ the Penguin. Just… Leave her out of this.”

“See? I knew we’ll get along.” she said with a smile. “I’ll be in touch. I’m probably going to need you to move to Gotham… Soon. But until then - you’re my errand boy.”

“Sure.” he said, suddenly feeling like a deflated balloon; she patted him on the shoulder as she was walking past him.

“I wish I didn’t have to do it like this.” she said quietly; and there was something almost like a genuine remorse in her voice. “You know? I wish you saw reason.”

“I wish you didn’t see _this_ as the only way.” he replied, not looking at her. “Go to hell, Vicki.”

“Been there. That’s where my Lady Arkham persona comes from.”

He really became her errand boy; even though he only ever operated in England his loose ties to the Riddler turned out to be just enough to get him everything Vale wanted; and it all came from one source.

The Black Mask.

“So you say you want a revolution.” Mask - a heavyset man in a white suit - said skeptically. “That’s… Quite an ambitious feat.”

“Ambition’s my middle name.” Penguin replied; Lady Arkham was standing behind him, in complete silence. “But it’s not against you, so-”

“Spare me the speeches.” Mask said tiredly. “I know you’ll come for me, sooner or later. With the guns I’m about to supply you with.”

“We need more than guns.” Lady Arkham said; and Penguin flinched slightly at the sound of her voice. “Penguin. Give him the list.”

“Goodness gracious.” Mask muttered, glancing at a long list of things Lady Arkham needed. “Well, it _can_ be arranged… But it’ll cost you.”

“Name your price.”

“Forget the money.” he said, putting the list into his pocket. “I’ve been in the business for decades now. I know when money are useless. I don’t want money.” he said, looking at Penguin and Lady Arkham from behind his mask. “I want your word. A promise of a favor.”

“Alright.” Lady Arkham said, walking up to him. “You have my word. And he…” she added, pointing at Penguin. “...is my guarantor. If something happens to me - he’s the one responsible.”

“That was not the deal.” he protested; but she only cocked her head slightly.

“Looks like the deal had changed, Penguin.”

She had a hold over him - and there was nothing he could do about it. So he went along with everything; he spent months coursing between Gotham and New York, pretending everything’s alright in front of the Schiller-Aberdeens, and making shady deals in the dark alleys.

And Vicki Vale kept piecing her theory together, filling out the blanks; and she was good at it, he had to give it to her. She exceeded at getting the informations she needed - and judging from how helpful her sources were, Oswald was willing to bet everything on her having something on everyone.

One of her sources turned out to be Louise McDonagh - his ex-girlfriend from teenage years, the tall woman he bumped into as he was leaving the Waterfront. She changed; as an adult woman, she was even more beautiful than she was as a teen - but she looked at him with such colossal guilt in her eyes it was obvious she has something to do with him being mixed up in this mess.

“Hey, Oz.” she said to him as he was staring at her in silence. “Been a while.”

“Yeah.” he replied quietly, remembering the awkward, skeletally thin girl she used to be. “You look… Good.”

“And _you_ look like you could use some sleep.”

“Sleeping’s kind of hard, when there’s a sword of Damocles hanging over my head.” he said coldly, and she looked away. “You told her about me being a Cobblepot, right?”

“Yeah.” she said quietly. “I did. But I didn’t realize… I didn’t know _this_ is how she’s going to use this.”

“Right.” he said, not entirely convinced. “So, what does she have on you?”

“Believe it or not, but nothing.” she said, with some odd helplessness in her eyes and voice. “And you?”

He glanced at her, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Will you keep it to yourself?” he finally asked; and she nodded.

“Aight. So. Remember Charlie?”

“Yeah.” Louise said with a nod. “Followed you around like an enamored puppy. Cute kid.”

“Well, this _cute kid_ grew up to be a remarkably gorgeous young woman.” he sighed, and Louise winced. “Hey, don’t give me that face. I’m not her brother.”

“Are you _sure_?”

“Yes.” he said firmly. “We’re not siblings. We’re friends. Buddies. Also I might be hopelessly in love with her, and I might have had acted like a complete douchebag after we slept together.”

“Woah.” she said, blinking. “That… Was a rollercoaster.”

“I know, right?” he said with a bitter chuckle. “We lost contact for a year, and when I came back… She was engaged. And long story short… Her so-called fiance turned out to be a con artist, who was only after her money. So… I killed him. And _that’s_ what Vicki has on me.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Oz.” Louise muttered, shaking her head. “It was always _go big or go home_ for you.”

“And look at me now.” he added quietly. “I’m home.”

***

Vicki seemed to take pleasure from delivering the worst news at the worst possible times; she told him what happened to his family right after telling him she needs him to move to Gotham permanently, in order to be at her disposal at all times - since she was going to begin her revolution with an official start of the election campaign.

What happened to his family was an ugly story; the worst part of which was what really happened to his _mother_. He watched the footage over and over; he didn’t sleep that night, and the next morning his eyes were red and burned like he rubbed them with sandpaper.

The other _Children of Arkham -_ because this what Vale called her band of misfits - seemed to be treating this as a rite of passage of sorts. Learning the truth - filthy, ugly truth - was considered an initiation; though he was the only one heartbroken by it.

The wealth of his childhood friend was built off the tragedies that befell his parents; his ivory tower, his happiness - it all existed because his father forcefully took it from Theodore and Esther.

Initially - he felt angry. At the injustice, caused by greed. But he overcame it, eventually; that was not the person he was not taught to be. Even when he was a kid, everyone knew about the vast crime empire of Carmine Falcone; but that didn't cause Theodore to treat Sofia like an enemy. _Children are not to blame for the fact their parents have a moral backbone of a chocolate eclair,_ like Crispin often said; children are not to blame for the sins of their parents.

That was what he kept telling himself as Vicki told him she needs him to get close to Bruce, to cause real damage, both as Oswald and as Penguin.

He felt a lot of things at the same time; anger, sadness, jealousy, shame. It was confusing; what he was taught battled his most basic instinct, and the actual state of things - the fact that even despite his tragedy, even despite his loss he grew up surrounded with warmth and love and comfort - was fighting with what ifs and woulds and maybes. Who he was merged into one with who he _could_ become; suddenly he felt violent and bitter and resentful and he wondered if _that_ was how Vicki felt all the time.

(Probably yes.)

***

Naturally he did his best to hide everything from the Schiller-Aberdeens. They didn’t know a thing about the reasons behind his frequent trips to Gothams, and he did all he could to hide the state he was in from them; even if slowly the sleepless nights began to outnumber the ones he spent asleep and he started to fear darkness and loneliness, because then he only had his own thoughts for company; and they weren’t pretty.

He spent quite a lot of nights crying, frantically looking for a way out - but there seemed to be none. He truly, desperately didn’t want anyone to know the _full_ truth about what happened to Harry Spencer; even if Charlie seemed to be slowly getting over it. She’d smile and laugh more often; and it seemed like the gentle touch of her hands was the only thing that could calm his demons down. The thought of her made his heart ache and his throat burn; but at the same time she was the only person capable of giving him the faintest semblance of peace.

He considered getting a substitute of it with Ella - but it wouldn’t be the same. Also there was a matter of what Vicki once told him - that she hired Ella to chat him up, in hopes of getting some blackmail material on him. Turns out, Vicki Vale had been watching him for months; she even showed him the pictures she took of his fake poetry notebook. This would explain how did she know about his feelings for Charlie; she knew a lot about him, a lot of things he wouldn’t want anyone to know.

(He considered cutting Ella out of his life; but he couldn’t.)

He did everything he could to hide his troubles from the others; but maybe he hid it a bit too well. Maybe he looked and sounded too alright. Maybe this was why Charlie asked if she can move with him after he mentioned he’s going to move back to Gotham.

At that point she was done with school; and maybe it was high time for them both to leave the nest.

“New York’s kind of… Spoiled for me.” she stated, stirring her tea. “And I thought… I’d rather give a new place a chance with you nearby. I was never a good swimmer.”

“Gotham’s ridden with organized crime and crocodile people in the sewers though. I’m not sure if it’s a right place for you.” he said, desperate to make her change her mind, to not drag her even further into this mess; but she only scoffed.

“Please, we grew up in the same house.” she said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t act rough and tough.”

“Hey, I’m tougher than you.”

“Uh-uh.” she muttered, taking a sip. “Speaking of tough… Your scars. What kind of life exactly did you lead in Essex?”

“Well, you know what they say about kids from the good families.” he said evasively. “I went looking for thrills, and… I found them. Now I’m ready to settle down in my hometown and lead a noble, peaceful life of a social bore.”

(Lady Arkham’s orders, Catwoman shooting him a cheeky grin in a dark alley, exchanging informations with Falcone’s secretary in hushed whispers, the intoxicating redness of Ella’s hair.)

She giggled and he briefly lost himself in this sound and the soft pink of her cheeks.

 _God,_ he thought. _All my life for one kiss._

***

To say Oswald didn’t look good would be an understatement of incomprehensible proportions.

At some point - shortly after Harry suddenly left her life, breaking her heart - something in Oswald changed; even she could see it, even despite her state.

It felt good to have him back - truly. She missed him terribly during that year of silence, she missed him every day; and eventually she repressed whatever the hell was that thing she felt for him. Harry made it easier - and he also made her feel love. Wanted. Beautiful. He made her feel all those things she so desperately wanted Oswald to make her feel - and she gave in.

And eventually, it became real - for her, at least. When Oswald suddenly returned - her heart almost didn’t skip a beat when she saw him and she almost didn’t have to fight off the urge to run up to him and throw her arms around his neck. Almost.

He was still beautiful; and he was on her mind a lot.

He looked at Harry as if he was pretending he’s not there - but he was perfectly civil, so she decided to let it slide. Not everyone has to get along with everyone; maybe they simply didn’t click. It happens. Not everyone has to get along with everyone.

But then Oswald began his mysterious trips to Gotham - and sometimes he’d return so tense, so uneasy. He’d be avoiding her eyes, as if he was hiding something from her, as if he was ashamed of something - but she didn’t press. Maybe he got into gambling. Or drugs. Or both. He seemed to have a penchant for the illegal and the dangerous, judging from his scars - even though she had no idea where did it come from.

(But she had her suspicions, all based on the photos from her father’s youth.)

But all in all - he was still Oswald. Her Oswald. And when she got a text from Harry and her heart shattered - he was the first person she called, even though he wasn’t anywhere near the top of her contact list.

(That’d be Harry, saved as a sparkling heart emoji.)

She called him, barely able to breathe; and he showed up soon after and hugged her without a word as she cried and cried and cried.

And he was there for her as she was getting better; but he seemed to be getting worse. It was obvious he slept way less than he used to; the dark circles under his - uncharacteristically red - eyes were getting bigger and bigger. He started to smoke a lot more; and his hands, his beautiful hands, would often be bruised. Something was wrong with him - and she had no idea what to do.

She felt like the source of whatever is wrong with him might be in Gotham - so when he announced he’s going to actually _move_ there she made a split-second decision - she asked if she can move with him.

He didn’t try too hard to make her change her mind; in fact he barely tried at all. They decided they might as well share a flat; they were used to sharing space, and Gotham was a completely new realm to her.

And the perspective of once again spending more time with him filled her with pleasant warmth; she still cared about him, obviously - and she missed the way things used to be, back before they slept with each other and she told him to fuck off.

She wanted to tell him she loves him; but he didn’t give her a chance, and eventually - it felt like she fell out of love. Like it was over.

It was far from over, as she realized one morning, very soon after they moved in and she walked into the kitchen and he was there, still half asleep, his hair a mess, staring into his cup of coffee like he was hoping to find the meaning of life there. He looked up and he looked at her; and he smiled and yawned and her heart fluttered.

_Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._

***

“That’s a weird decision to make.”

Charlie insisted on a housewarming party, and Oswald - perhaps foolishly - offhandedly mentioned he has some _friends_ in Gotham; and he couldn’t say _no_ to her, not when she looked at him like that.

(He kind of melted around her.)

So, there they were - in their brand new, luxurious flat, as his _friends_ were roaming around. They weren’t bad people; in fact, he sort of liked the majority of them - but he’d rather meet them on his own volition.

And when she wanted to, Vicki Vale could be perfectly polite and pleasant - and that’s the way she presented herself to Charlie. And now they were sitting on a parapet; she was holding a bottle of beer and he was holding a glass of scotch and he was avoiding looking at her.

“What’s a weird decision?” he finally asked; and Vicki snickered.

“Bringing this girl with you, of course. It’s almost like… You _want_ her to learn the truth.”

“I’m not great at saying _no_ to her.” he admitted. “She wanted to come with me.”

“Oh, Oswald.” Vicki sighed, shaking her head. “Are you going to allow _every_ woman you meet to manipulate you?”

“That’s not manipulation, Vale. That’s love. I thought you, of all people, would know something about it.”

“Mmm.” she muttered, finishing her beer. “Well, you better look out for your pretty bird. I think she’s Richter’s type… And I _need_ Richter.” she added in a dark tone. “So maybe don’t kill him.”

“I’m not a jealous type.” he said with a shrug. “Or an obsessive one. She’s free to live her own life. Richter’s not my problem… Just as long as he doesn’t hurt her.”

“Alright, so here’s a hypothetical scenario for you: what if she _asks_ Richter to hurt her? What then?”

“To each their own.” he said with hollow nonchalance. “I’m happy as long as _she’s_ happy.”

Ella looked at him from across the room, and shot him a smile, before returning to talking with Charlie and Louise; and Oswald watched her absent-mindedly, thinking about the night when he confronted her about what Vicki told him.

They met in a bar downtown; it was nearly empty, except for them and a bartender only one person was there.

Ella sat down at the other side of his table, as he was drinking his beer, looking out of the window; he only looked at her when she cleared her throat.

“You said you wanted to talk.” she said, sounding almost hesitant. “What’s the matter?”

“I know about why you talked to me that night in the bar.” he said, setting his bottle down, looking Ella in the eye; she looked away. “Look at me, Ella.”

“A girl has to eat.” she said quietly, not looking at him. “And recently… Falcone started to demand a higher share of our earnings. Fish cut her share in half to keep us afloat, but…”

“A girl has to eat.” he interrupted her. “I know. I just wish… You told me.”

“There’s no good way of saying something like this, is there?” she said bitterly. “I was hired by an insidious journalist to make use of your… Infatuation with another girl. Not an optimal icebreaker.”

“How are your bills?” he asked; Ella sighed.

“Falcone sort of screw everyone over when he upped his ante.” she said reluctantly. “So… Things are not looking great. I’m not in debt, but… Been better.”

“Well, I could help you out, you know. How’s your schedule for this week?”

“I have a free night… Tonight.”

“Then let me get you a drink and order us a cab… To the Iceberg.”

She smiled faintly as he was getting up; services at the Iceberg costed triple as much as a night at a hotel. Oswald could manage without the club’s fancy equipment, as long as he had his own body and a willing partner; but Ella needed the extra money.

(And he quickly forgot about the shadow of Vicki Vale looming over them as she was caressing his face and he closed his eyes, letting go, giving in.)

Vicki nudged him in the ribs with her elbow, bringing him back to Earth.

“What?” he asked tiredly.

“Do you think that’s the deal for her as well?”

“Are you asking me if Charlie cares about my happiness?”

“More or less.”

“I like to think that she does.” he sighed. “I’m not sure if she’d kill someone for the sake of it, but… She has to at least like me, considering she insisted on moving with me.”

Later that night he pulled Richter into a dark corner and - very politely - asked him to get condoms if he intends on trying his luck with Charlie.

“She told me she has an implant though.”

“This is not about her getting pregnant, Richter.” Oswald said with a warm smile Schulz once described as _stuff that’d make me crap my pants if I saw it in an a dark alley at night_. “This is about where you put your dick earlier. So, be a good lad… And scoot.” he said, sliding some bills into Richter’s hand and patting him on a shoulder.

He spent the night with Ella; and he was damn aware of the fact that in the room next door Charlie was with Richter. Richter wasn’t a terrible person - even though he used to be a triple agent in the Silicon Valley. He was clever, even if a bit oblivious to some social cues; and he probably wouldn’t dare to cross Oswald like _this_. Everyone knew Penguin’s a part of the revolution rather unwillingly - but that didn’t make him any less dangerous. He carried Lady Arkham’s orders out without hesitation, without a word of protest; and everybody knew he can stand his ground. He moved like a lightning strike, was very handy with a knife, and decent with firearms - he was no sharpshooter, but he knew how to trick people into thinking he _is_ one. Richter - who was spending the majority of his time tinkering with tech - didn’t stand a chance against him; so Oswald was confident Charlie’s in good hands.

“Oswald, you need to relax.” Ella eventually told him. “You’re so tense, it looks like you’re about to _explode_.”

“What? No.” he said automatically; but she was right, he _was_ tense.

“God, you’re the _worst_ liar.” she said, laughing quietly. “Here’s an idea - let’s switch roles for one night. You’re tense, you look gorgeous on your knees… Let me help you out.”

“You know what? I’m game.”

So he let her take control that night; even though technically she was always the one in control. She took his mind off of whatever was happening in the room next door; and the light in his bedroom was dim and with his eyes half closed and his vision slightly blurry, Ella looked almost like Charlie when she was lifting his chin with his fingertips as he was on his knees.

It was a blur; and he was pretty sure that Charlie’s name escaped his lips more than once that night. But Ella didn’t mind; she was a professional.

The next morning Charlie left her room alone; Richter was nowhere to be seen. Ella was already dressed up; and Oswald was in his sweatpants, pondering the deeper secrets of the universe over coffee.

“Oh!” Ella said at her sight. “You’re up early.”

“You’re one to talk.” Charlie muttered, yawning and stretching; she was wearing a lace nightgown and it did cost Oswald some effort to not stare.

“Alright, so I’ll be going.” Ella said, picking up her bag. “See you around, Oz.”

“See you around, El.”

“She seems nice.” Charlie stated as soon as the doors closed behind Ella; he noticed her briefly glancing at his neck and he absentmindedly rubbed the spot where Ella left her mark on his skin. “So, for how long you two have been dating?”

“Dating?” he repeated. “Oh, it’s… Not like that. We’re a casual thing.”

“Really?” she asked; she sounded surprise, and when he glanced at her - there was something weird, something dark in her eyes; it glimmered for just a moment, before she looked away. “I thought you’re not interested in _friends with benefits_ sort of relationships.”

He remembered their argument at the airport, and he winced; he meant what he said back then - he wasn’t interested in them being a casual thing. He didn’t want to be her casual lover; he fell hard and fast. He was an _all or nothing_ kind of person; and that morning, in their kitchen - an idea occurred to him. It was a very ugly idea, that would possibly lead to catastrophic consequences in regards to his relationship with Charlie; but he was getting desperate. Lady Arkham set the date of finally setting her plans into full motion - and it was less than a month away. Plenty of things could go wrong, plenty of things could set her off, plenty of things could make her decide Oswald betrayed her trust - plenty of things could make her expose the truth to Charlie.

So he decided - the best thing he can do is to make Charlie not care about the truth. It won’t matter that Vicki Vale tries to paint him as a monster - if there will be no one to see this painting.

He decided to break his own heart, bit by bit; just another addition to the long list of his brilliant ideas.

“Well, that’s because I wasn’t.” he said with a shrug. “But… Ella kind of changed my mind on the topic.”

“Hm.” she muttered, still not looking at him. “How did you two meet?”

“In a bar, on a rainy night. She called me _handsome stranger_ \- and I was sold.” he said, forcing himself to smile; Ella told him she once spied on him and Fish. She told him he looks good with rope bruises on his skin; he didn’t disagree. He _did_ look good with bruises; but he wasn’t a good sub material. “So, you and Richter…”

“What? Oh!” she said, suddenly looking flustered. “He’s… Uhm. He’s nice.”

“He’s a sweet-talker.” he said with a forced smirk. “A real charmer. Was he good to you?”

“I guess.” she said with a shrug; she looked absolutely adorable when she was clumsily trying to hide how flustered she was. “He left few hours ago. Said his mother got sick.”

Oswald furrowed his brows briefly; Richter - like the majority of the Children of Arkham - was an orphan, all thanks to men who were truly running the show; but it was quite common for the children to refer to Vicki - be it jokingly or not - as _mother_. She was the Lady Arkham, the personification of bitter vengeance; and those were her Children.

But _he_ was her right hand man, her - forcefully - loyal second in command; if something was going on - she’d let _him_ know. And she didn’t; which probably meant Richter simply chickened out at the thought of looking Penguin in the eye in the morning.

_Oh, Richter._

***

The night had came to set everything in motion - and Oswald’s role was to show himself to Bruce Wayne. He didn’t make an official return of any sort; he didn’t reach out to any of his old friends, and made Fish, Ella and Esme - Falcone’s secretary who was feeding Vicki a lot of dirt - promise they won’t mention him by name to anyone. He often wondered what’s going to happen to both Skyler Hill and Sofia Falcone; they were both far away from Gotham - but it was clear as day that Lady Arkham’s vengeance’s aimed at them as well. Bruce was the only member of their old gang who remained; and Lady Arkham had planned a violent and ugly destruction for him.

His feelings on the matter were mixed - his parents trusted Thomas Wayne. _He_ trusted Thomas Wayne; and now he had to look Bruce in the eye and pretend, pretend he doesn’t know about anything, trick him into trusting him, give him a false sense of safety - before destroying him. He wasn’t even sure _how_ does he feel about Bruce; he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe - Bruce knew. Helped his father by gaining Oswald’s family’s trust.

He spent nearly a month slowly going crazy because of those burning, plaguing doubts and questions; he had plenty sleepless nights, spent either staring at a ceiling or quietly walking around the flat or sitting under a wall with his head in his hands and his fingers in his hair, pulling desperately.

Charlie was getting worried about him; and he started to push her away, in hopes of making her abandon him altogether. That’d be the best solution possible for her; to leave his life forever, before he makes a mistake, before he slips and Lady Arkham shows her what he’s done.

She seemed to not be interested in continuing whatever happened between her and Richter; and for some reason Richter himself firmly refused to talk about it. Oswald didn’t press; it’s not like he wanted to hear about it. He simply wanted to make sure Richter didn’t - be it accidentally or not - break a heart he wasn’t supposed to touch in the first place. He’d hate to have to hurt Richter.

He felt like he’s slipping; and when it was too much - he’d call Ella. She was incredible at anchoring him down; and he quickly abandoned his pride that was stopping him from saying _please_ and dropping down to his knees.

He was definitely slipping; and the concern in Charlie’s voice and eyes wasn’t helping.

“Is everything alright?” she’d ask.

“Yeah.” he’d reply raspily, his throat sore after another night spent on muttering to himself. “Why do you ask?”

And she’d sigh and walk away and he’d stay, watch her leave, thinking about how nothing, absolutely fucking nothing is alright.

***

“Where are you going?”

“Out.” Oswald replied, not looking at her; it was the night. A few of the Children of Arkham were tasked with accompanying Catwoman during her heist, to make sure she makes it out free and in one piece, rather than captured by the Bat; and Oswald was tasked with planting a seed of doubt and paranoia in Bruce’s mind. He’d rather be with his boys, geared up and busy; but he didn’t dare to defy Lady Arkham.

“Wow, what a detailed answer.” Charlie said; she sounded tired and sad. “Did I do something to offend you, Oz?”

“No.” he said, his heart breaking; he turned around to face her. “Of course you didn’t. Help me out with my tie?”

She did; and he wanted to lean in and kiss her and apologize for pushing her away - but he couldn’t, it was all for her sake. She’d be better off without him in her life; she simply had to realize it.

“Can I come with you?” she suddenly asked as he was with his hand on the doorknob, ready to leave.

He glanced at her; he asked her to hold off the moment of introducing herself to the Gotham social elite; he wanted to keep his presence a relative secret for the time being. But he couldn’t keep her hidden forever; and maybe _this_ was the right way of solving his problem. Maybe it’d be easier for him to leave him behind after meeting someone genuine, someone nice, someone with no dark secrets; plenty of alright people were going to be at the Wayne Manor.

“Aight.” he said, stepping away from the door. “Get dressed, luv, we have people to dazzle.”

(Calling her _love_ or _luv_ was the closest he’d get to saying _I love you_ ; a few drops of water, when his throat was burning and dry.)

Her face lit up, and she hurried to her closet, to pick a dress; she didn’t close the door to her bedroom all the way and through the narrow crevice he could see a faint flash of her body, only clad in lace lingerie. He looked away eventually; but she looked beautiful, and he still remembered the way her body looked naked, the rosy bloom of her nipples, the way her body reacted to his touch.

“Zip my dress for me?” she asked, walking out of the room in one of his favorite dresses of hers; she wore it that night in the restaurant, when he overheard Harry talking over the phone.

“Sure.” he said, already reaching for the zipper; he accidentally brushed the smooth skin on her back with his fingertips and he could’ve sworn he saw her get tense in an instant, tense and stiff.

He said nothing; and they didn’t talk much during the ride to the Wayne Manor.

Charlie had the undivided attention of anyone she talked to; and Oswald used the fact no one seemed to notice him to learn a few things about Harvey Dent, one of many men who were supposed to die in the following weeks. He seemed decent - and very, very anxious.

“Hello, Oswald.” Louise said quietly, appearing next to him with a glass of wine in hand. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Likewise.” he said equally quietly, not taking his eyes off Dent; Bruce was nowhere to be seen. “Don’t you feel guilty, Lou?”

“About Harvey? Every damn day.” she said with a sigh. “But I can’t back out now. I keep hoping that… She’ll see this is too much. That she’ll stop.”

“That’s not going to happen and you know it.”

“Yeah.” she said quietly. “I guess I do. Hey, Oz, about you and Charlie-”

“Let’s not talk about it.” he interrupted her, spotting Vicki in the crowd; she was talking to Charlie, and seemingly didn’t notice him.

Suddenly an idea occurred to him.

“Hey, Lou, do you have a pen?”

“Uh, yeah. Here.”

“Thanks.” he muttered, already scribbling down a note on a paper napkin. “Look, I have to go. Can I leave getting Charlie home to you?”

“Fine.” she sighed, setting the glass of wine down. “Be safe, Oz.”

He looked at her, ready to leave; and for a brief moment he saw that awkward, tense teenage girl she used to be and who’d clumsily kiss him in a dark cinema.

“You too, Lou.”

He quickly found Alfred; and he smiled at the sight of his wrinkled, stern face. At first, the old butler didn’t quite recognized him.

“Come on, Alfred. It’s me! The Scourge of your china cabinet!”

“Oh by heavens!” the butler sighed, setting down a tray he was carrying. “Young master Cobblepot!”

“One and only. It’s good to see you, Alfred.”

The butler agreed to pass his hastily scribbled down note to Bruce as soon as he sees him; and Oswald quietly left the party, downing two glasses of whiskey and half a bottle of wine on his way out. He knew Vicki Vale’s following him with her eyes; but he was confident. She never specified _where_ and _how_ she wants him to show himself to Bruce - he might’ve as well try and do it away from her prying eyes, somewhere where he could actually talk to Bruce without being worried about his Lady overhearing something he’d rather not have her hear.

He went back home to change out of his suit; and he glanced at the closed doors to Charlie’s room, wondering what’s going on inside her heart.

That was his first visit to the Cobblepot Park in a long time; and the park clearly left its days of glory behind, the best indicator of which were the two muggers who jumped Bruce and seemed to be very determined to shank him.

So he let out some steam by promptly beating the shit out of them - they deserved it.

He ended up with blood splatters all over his face; and Bruce seemed to be… A little surprised.

He changed a lot over the years; he barely looked anything like Oswald’s childhood friend - but his eyes, his eyes didn’t change. Those were the eyes Oswald remembered from the bad old days; those were the eyes of a kid who’d push bullies away from Oz covered in mud.

And Bruce… Bruce still cared about something more than just himself. He wasn’t bad; and Oswald realized… It’s going to actually be hard for him to bring him down, to destroy him in the name of his father’s crimes.

“You know, I haven’t been mugged _once_ during those two decades.” Bruce said with a quiet chuckle, crossing his arms.

“Well, you know what they say. There comes a time for everythin’, or something along these lines.” Oswald replied. “Glad to see you in one piece though.”

“The feeling’s mutual, Oz.”

And they sat down - and talked, under the watchful eye of Theodore’s bust. Oswald didn’t tell him the entire truth - but didn’t feed him lies either. He still had to figure out where exactly Bruce is standing, what’s his precise position, and just how much of his eagerness is genuine, and how much is a facade, used to hide something much darker. He still had plenty to figure out - but that didn’t mean Bruce deserves the same bloody fate that was awaiting Carmine Falcone and Hamilton Hill. Sure, he did feel stings of bitter resentment as he looked around the ruined park, thinking about what kind of person he _could_ be if it wasn’t for Crispin - but Bruce wasn’t to blame. Thomas Wayne had to pay the price for his crimes - but the life of his child wasn’t the right currency.

With each passing second, things were getting more and more complicated; Oswald hated Thomas - but didn’t seem to be able to point the same hate in direction of Bruce. What he felt for Bruce wasn’t a pure sympathy either - and only partially due to the fact they last spoke two decades ago - but it was still far more complicated than the burning, resentful hatred Vicki felt.

And to make things even worse - Catwoman didn’t succeed in stealing the drive. Batman stopped her - and a certain number of Children were arrested, meaning Penguin had nothing on Falcone. He had to think of something, and fast; once again he felt like a trapped animal, like he’s slipping. Things were out of his control; he had no doubts Lady Arkham’s going to make it into _his_ personal mistake. Catwoman’s failure was going to make Vale doubt Oswald’s loyalty; things weren’t looking pretty, and he punched some trees and walls in fruitless frustration.

_Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK._

When he got back home, Charlie had already returned; and she was asleep on a couch in the living room. The window was open, and chilly breeze was coming through; so he reached for a blanket to cover her.

“Oz?” she muttered sleepily, opening her eyes. “You’re back…”

“Mmmhm.”

“Take me to bed.” she muttered, reaching out to him; so he silently picked her up and carried her. He wanted to hold her like this forever; he wanted to hide his face in her hair, for her to keep her arms wrapped around his neck.

“Thanks.” she muttered as he put her down.

She closed her eyes again, and he stood next to her bed for a while, just looking at her. She looked sad; and the skin around her eyes was tinted red.

Louise left him a note on his pillow.

 

_She cried a river. Oz, you douche._

 

He sighed and threw it out; maybe his desperate plan was working.

***

And he kept pushing her away. He pushed and pushed and pushed, instead losing himself in the behind the scenes workings of Vicki’s revolution; he delegated some of his people to the task of uncovering Catwoman’s identity. He needed to talk with her - and it wasn’t going to be pleasant, for either of them.

Charlie seemed to be adamant about not letting go - and it was driving him _crazy_. Quite a few times he was very close to cracking and telling her everything; but he never did. He spent many sleepless nights staring at his mask; sometimes he considered simply running away, starting a new life somewhere far, far away - but it was all pointless. If he disappeared, Vicki would instantly expose him to Charlie; and there would be no coming back.

He knew he’s going to slip. He knew he’s going to make a mistake. He wanted to make her cut him off, to make her not _care_ ; but she did and it was infuriating, how oblivious she was, how insistent. To hell with love; this thing was doomed from the start.

(He wasn’t making any sense. Nothing was making any sense.)

He spent many nights frantically synthesizing the drug for Lady Arkham; it kept his mind and his hands busy. He couldn’t rely on Ella anymore; she was leaving the business, after one of her customers overstepped his boundaries and ignored her more and more desperate pleas for him to stop. It wasn’t a pleasant experience; so she quietly left his life.

When Charlie asked him why did Ella stop visiting, he told her he decided red’s not exactly his color; a banal, blatant lie, almost a painful one.

***

She hit him the day Falcone died.

Things weren’t exactly going according to plan - but that didn’t mean they weren’t going _good_. Somehow Bruce Wayne got his hands on an almost complete documentation of Falcone’s criminal empire - and the gangster was on his way to get his punishment. Lady Arkham wanted his blood, and Oswald silently agreed; Falcone was disgusting and vile, he was the main source of Gotham’s rot. He corrupted everything he touched, everyone he spoke to; killing him didn’t sound like that bad of an idea, even if - thanks to Batman’s involvement - it would be a bit more complicated. It required some finesse, some subterfuge; some puppetry. But it was possible; everything was possible, considering the ace Lady Arkham had up her sleeve. He’d stop at nothing, just to make her believe his loyalty. She had him wrapped around her finger.

So, Falcone was in an intensive care after the polite conversation Batman had with him; but Oswald had a plan. He didn’t sleep the night before, and he felt like he’s drowning - but he had a plan.

“Where are you going, dressed up like _this_?” Charlie asked him as he was putting his coat on.

“Places.” he said, not looking at her; they barely talked anymore. It felt like all she needs is just one little push; and she’d be on her merry way, off to find someone better.

“Why are you like this?” she asked, her voice breaking. “Please, look at me.”

And he did - and she had tears in her eyes and her lips were trembling.

“I have no idea what are you talking about, Critter.”

“Why are you lying to me, Oz? What did I do to you?”

And they argued. She accused him of lying, of hiding something, of breaking the promise he made; he told her she’s being paranoid, that just because one person lied to her doesn’t mean _everyone_ is, that she’s clingy, that he never forced her to come with him.

He said a lot of cold things to her that day, in a desperate attempt to at least lose her on his own terms, rather than have Vicki Vale dictate those. A lot of cruel and selfish things; and eventually she snapped and lost it, and before they knew it - his left cheek was burning and she was staring at him in disbelief.

He slowly turned his head to look at her through the hair covering his eyes; he touched his - quickly swelling - face with his fingertips, and she was staring at him, frozen in place.

“I’ll be back later.” he said and left; and she didn’t move and he was sure that in a few hours - he’ll return to an empty flat. Maybe there’d be a farewell letter; but probably not. He didn’t deserve one; he did everything he could to not deserve one.

He was certain Lady Arkham just lost her advantage over him; but it didn’t taste like victory.

He felt hollow, and his cheek was burning; he deserved that one. He deserved the pain - nothing more, nothing less.

***

Something had gotten into Oswald - and it was breaking her heart. He was becoming more and more distant; and she had absolutely no clue _why_. She was sure he’d just _tell_ her if she did or said something wrong - but no, he never did.

During their housewarming party one of his friends seemed to be interested in her; and she eventually played along. He was a smooth talker, and her room was dark anyway; which might be why Oswald’s name accidentally slipped out from between her lips once or twice. Richter didn’t mention it; but he didn’t stay till the morning hours and eventually she cried herself to sleep, her confusion taking the better of her.

Ella - a chatty, witty girl - turned out to be Oswald’s friend with benefits; and it… Hurt. He seemed to still be under the impression that _that’s_ what she wanted to suggest back on the airport; and then he nonchalantly told her he simply wasn’t interested in this kind of thing with _her_.

He also suddenly left her alone at a party at Wayne Manor; and Louise - his ex-girlfriend, back from the teenage years - took her home and she only started to cry after they entered the empty flat. She felt like coming to Gotham with Oswald was a mistake; and it seemed like he clearly doesn’t _want_ her in his life - but she stayed. She was always stubborn; and she wanted him to tell her to fuck off openly and explicitly, rather than resort to this cheap game of cat and mouse.

She fell asleep waiting for him to come home; and when he did - he carried her to bed, and she felt so safe in his arms, so safe and warm and secure, like all the bad in the world couldn’t possibly reach her.

(In that act of tenderness she was so vulnerable and tired she nearly slipped and told him she loves him; few days later she was glad she didn’t when he told her he ended his thing with Ella because he decided _red’s not quite his color_. He glanced at her hair and she forced herself to smile and nod and only cried later, when she was alone and he couldn’t hear.)

Eventually, it felt like she had reached her limit; she demanded he tells her what’s going on - to which he called her paranoid and clingy.

They went on like this for quite some time - until something in her snapped and she hit him. She didn’t mean to. She didn’t want to. But the way he acted, the way he treated her - it _hurt,_ it hurt so badly she sometimes felt like someone’s ripping her heart out; and she gave in to this pain - and then _this_ happened. She slapped him; and he slowly turned his head and touched his cheek and looked at her with his eyes half closed and she stood there, completely mortified, thinking this is it, this is the moment he tells her to get out-

“I’ll be back later.” he simply said before turning around and leaving; and she dropped down to her knees and hid her face in her hands.

Her first instinct was to run after him; but she had no idea what is she going to tell him. She could also pack her things and go back to New York; but that’d mean telling her parents about what happened - and she couldn’t force herself to even think about it. A part of her - a naive, yearning, stubborn part - believed Oswald’s in trouble; that he’s simply too proud to admit it, that eventually he’s going to crack and confess, that they’re going to work through it. She felt foolish; but she wasn’t ready to let him go, not like _this_ , not without knowing what’s going on.

He only came home two days later; and he seemed tired and resigned.

“Oh.” he said at her sight. “I was sure you’d leave.”

And that was the last straw that broke the camel’s back.

“I’m sorry!” she sobbed out. “Alright?! I’m sorry! I don’t know what I did, I don’t know what I said, but I’m sorry! Why do you suddenly hate me?!”

“Cricket-”

“I’m sorry I slapped you! I shouldn’t! I know! But Oswald, you’ve been acting like a _dick_ , and I don’t know _why_!”

She had a full-blown breakdown; and he clumsily tried to calm her down.

But nothing was helping; and he still didn’t give her any answers.

“Why are you pushing me away?!” she asked tearfully, furiously hitting his chest with her fists. “Why?! What did I do to you?!”

“Why won’t you _get_ away?” he asked in response; and his voice was breaking. “I don’t understand, Charlie. Why won’t you just get away and _stay_ away?!”

“Because I love you!” she finally blurted out.

Her sudden confession was met with silence.

“You picked a wrong guy.” he eventually said, very quietly, still holding her. “Again.”

“I know.” she said tearfully, resting her forehead against his chest. “I know.”

She felt tired; and she only realized something is wrong when he suddenly stabbed her with a needle.

“I’m sorry.” he said; he sounded pained, as he injected her with something. “I’m sorry.”

She raised her head and looked at his face with disbelief; she wanted to say something - but her thoughts were a haze, a blur. Her tongue and her lips suddenly felt stiff and uncooperative, and soon after her legs gave up and she’d fall down if it wasn’t for him holding her.

“This is all for your own good.” she heard him mutter as he carried her to bed. “I’m sorry.”

Soon after she drifted off.

***

The thing with Falcone went rather smoothly; the mafioso was dead, and that was all that mattered. Then Oswald went for a small trip to the Skyline Club; and that... Didn’t go smoothly, mostly because Batman showed up.

“A sight for sore eyes.” Oswald stated at the sight of a grim vigilante. He had something along the lines of an idea regarding getting out of the mess he had gotten into; but first he needed two things - to figure out Batman’s opinion on Bruce Wayne and let him know he’s the Penguin.

He didn’t want to kill Bruce Wayne or to take over his empire to turn it into Lady Arkham’s asset. He really, truly didn’t; but he _had_ to. It was either a fall of his childhood friend, or the truth about Harry’s death being exposed - at least that’s what Vicki made him believe. There _was_ a third way out; betrayal. Joining forces with the enemy to stop Lady Arkham for fucking everything up for every person who was not a Child of Arkham; he didn’t share her burning urge for revenge. He was only a part of her revolution because she blackmailed him; he wanted out - and Batman was his best bet.

“Seems like someone ‘ere has private funding!” he said jokingly, lightly patting the caped crusader’s armored chest. “What, Bats, are you the hound dog of the rotten and the wealthy? I thought you’re Gotham’s protector! You should be thanking me for the Falcone thing, by the way. No worries.” he added with a wink. “I’m not going to charge extra. That one’s… On the house.”

He fished Batman’s opinion on Bruce Wayne out of him; the Bat didn’t seem to be _fond_ of Bruce - but he definitely didn’t want him to go down same way same way Falcone did. Hell - maybe he’d even be willing to _cooperate_. That remained to be seen.

“I told you to call me _Penguin!_ ” he said with annoyance, as one of the Children informed him they finally tracked down Catwoman.

“Selina? _Beautiful_ name!” he stated carelessly; and he meant it. It was a very pretty name, and fit Catwoman like a silk glove. “Now… Bring her to me. Sorry, Bats!” he added, turning in the direction of a vigilante. “But you know how it is. Business is business, and money is money.”

He ordered some of his men to get Catwoman - they needed to talk. He wanted his money back. Lady Arkham wanted her head; he was a bit less enthusiastic about it. She was a burglar; of _course_ she was interrupted by Batman. Maybe if someone thought of organizing a distraction for the Bat in another part of town this wouldn’t have happened - but no one thought of that, and Catwoman wasn’t to blame for the incompetence of people who hired her.

After getting away from the Bat, Oswald considered going home - but he couldn’t bear the thought of confronting Charlie after everything he said to her. He was sure at this point she’s either gone, or in the process of leaving; maybe for the better. He did seem to finally find a way out; but he felt like he pushed her too far away. Even if his desperate plan involving Batman worked - the damage was already in place. He lied and pushed her away and was hurtful; he also forced an innocent woman to end tangled up in a murder. Did he want Falcone’s death? Sure. Was he a bit excited at the perspective of Hill’s upcoming death? Definitely. But that was where he wanted to part ways with Lady Arkham; so instead of going home - Oswald holed himself up in one of Lady’s many workshops hidden across the city. He spent many hours there, tinkering with tools; eventually he made what he was going to need - a tracking device. It wasn’t elegant; in fact, it was rather crude - but it was long range, which was all that mattered to him.

Eventually, he went home - he had to take a shower and change before the big show, before the mayoral debate, before the execution.

( _God, what a fucking clusterfuck._ )

And much to his surprise - Charlie was _still_ there. Shaken and pale and heart-crushingly sad - but _there._

She apologized to him. She practically _begged_ him to tell her why is he pushing her away. She told him she loves him.

It was a mess, and only then he realized _just_ how badly he fucked up everything; he should have known better. He should have told her the truth, rather than give in to Vicki’s schemes.

She loved him, and he broke her heart by pushing her away; he wasn’t the right person for her.

She picked the wrong guy - again.

He drugged her, to make her pass out; his thoughts were a racing, overflowing mess. She said she loves him, that she won’t let him push her away; but he hurt her over and over again. He lied to her, claiming it’s for her own good; but he was motivated by his own egoism and fear.

It looked like it’s time for him to disappear.

 


	5. Chapter 5

The mayoral debate was a fucking disaster - just the way Lady Arkham had planned. Mayor Hill died, the crimes of Thomas Wayne and the real fate of Esther Cobblepot were exposed, and the public’s faith into the rich and powerful was shattered - and Oswald was almost relieved when Batman finally showed up, along with Catwoman.

He let the Bat pin him to the floor; he needed his full attention, just for a moment.

“Let me go, and I can help you!” he choked out.

“You’re a liar, Penguin.”

“I have a tracking device on me. I made it - just so _you_ can track me down. Let me slip away, follow me, and we can get ourselves a deal, beautiful like Bruce Wayne’s face.”

Much to his surprise - and relief - Batman accepted his offer; he let him slip away.

It was raining; and Oswald took his mask off and let the rain fall down on his face and hair. Maybe not everything was lost. Maybe he still had a chance.

Batman showed up a few hours later; he was alone.

“Where did the kitten go?” Oswald asked from the shadows. “Come on, Bats, talk to me. Or… Did a cat get your tongue?”

“I’m here to talk about your proposition, Penguin. You wanted a deal.”

“And I still do, dearheart. I still do. I can give you something truly magnificent - I can give you Lady Arkham herself.” Oswald stated theatrically. “I’m tired, Bats. I’m not a bad lad, people who took me in - they made sure I don’t grow up to be a rotten apple.”

“You seemed to be very loyal to Lady Arkham, up to this point. Why a change of heart?”

“My so-called _loyalty_ is non-existent, darling dear. Lady Arkham has something on me… And she’s not above playing dirty. And I want out, the sooner the better. Thomas Wayne is _dead_. What he did to the families of the Children - is unforgivable, reprehensible. But he’s dead. There are better ways to fix this than destroying Bruce.”

“Wayne can take having his reputation tarnished.”

“Yes, but can he take having his company taken away from him? Can he take being committed to Arkham, same way his father committed so many people?”

“Let’s say I’m in.” Batman said hesitantly and Oswald smiled with relief under his mask. “What about _you_? What do you get out of this?”

“What I get is Lady Arkham not releasing what she has on me. Not to the girl I… Care about, not to the general public. That’s all I care about.”

“You should be brought to justice as well.”

“Should I now?” he asked, cocking his head a bit. “In a way, I did Gotham a favor. You heard Hill - he wanted to _incinerate_ the poor. Not even _incarcerate._ And Falcone… Face it, Bats. He’d be out sooner or later. And now… He’s gone. His empire’s finished. Those were not bad deeds.”

“That’s not for you to decide. Justice-”

“We all have our own definitions of _justice_.” he interrupted him. “Your definition involves police and courts - two _very_ corrupt institutions. Plenty of things could go wrong. The evidence could go missing, the judge could be bought… And there’s no turning back once someone’s dead.”

“We can discuss justice and law some other time, Penguin. The deal.”

“Oh, right!” he remembered. “The deal. It’s simple, really - I give you the tools you need to stop Lady Arkham before things go too far… And that’s it, really.” he said with a shrug. “I get to walk free, since no one seems to be able to figure me out. And even if they _do_ figure me out… I still get to walk free, as a reward for being so heartcrushingly cooperative.”

“ _Why_ do you want Lady Arkham off the board, Penguin?”

“I told you already - I’m not a willing participant of those reindeer games. I don’t want this sword of Damocles hanging over my head.”

“What is she blackmailing you with?”

“Nothing that concerns you.” he said evasively. “Come on, Bats, I have things to do and places to be.”

“I’m still waiting for you to get to the point.”

“Lady Arkham just shattered the reputation of Bruce Wayne.” Oswald stated. “She exposed the fact his fortune, his brand - it was built on human bones. And now she’s going for a narrative bracket - Bruce Wayne’s about to end up destroyed same way his pop destroyed so many people in the name of his future. In a few hours, the board of Wayne Enterprises is going to each out to one dashing gentleman and propose him a safe, secure position of Bruce’s successor. He’s going to accept - and then, during a press conference… She’s going to strike. She’s going to inject a bewildered, bemused Bruce with the same drug I injected poor detective Montoya with - and this… Will start a landslide of events, ultimately leading to Bruce becoming one thing Thomas didn’t want him to be - penniless, bitter, alone.”

“And what does Lady Arkham get out of someone else running the Wayne Enterprises? Are you confessing to being Oswald Cobblepot?”

“Lady Arkham has something on everyone. Oswald Cobblepot’s not an exception. You’d be surprised. And, Batman… Love makes fool of us all.”

“I _know_ you’re him, Penguin.” Batman said tiredly. “But I also know there’s no time for games. One day you’re going to slip - and I’ll be there.”

“Maybe I _am_ Oswald Cobblepot.” he said with a shrug. “Or maybe he’s simply my dear friend. Just… Don’t go after him, Bats. He’s not the one you want. His… Personal shortcomings… Are _nothing_ compared to _my_ shortcomings.”

“I need a sample of the toxine Lady Arkham wants to use on Wayne.” Batman said, completely ignoring Penguin’s last statement. “So I can synthesize a blocker.”

“And I can get it for you. Tomorrow, same time, same place?”

“There’s no time.” Batman said, already doing something on the computer built into his gauntlet. “The board’s already in the middle of an emergency conference. The press conference’s going to happen in approximately forty eight hours from now. I need the sample by tomorrow morning.”

“Drop point?”

“I’m going to get Wayne involved. His chairwoman will want to deliver the bad news in person. Reach out to Cobblepot. Make him deliver a sample to Wayne. I’ll handle the rest.”

“Oh, so _now_ you believe I’m not Oswald Cobblepot?”

“Identity’s a complicated matter… Penguin.”

And he left; and Oswald was left feeling very, _very_ confused.

***

He came home at a break of dawn; he spent the past few hours synthesizing a sample of a drug for Batman, all while taking praises from Lady Arkham, who seemed to be pleased with the way the debate went. Sure, Harvey Dent was still alive - but he was never a priority target. Penguin exposed the ugly truth about Thomas Wayne - that was all that mattered.

While working, Oswald received a - very formal - email from the board of the Wayne Enterprises; everything was happening just the way Lady had predicted it would happen. They wanted to see him as soon as possible, to discuss his further involvement in the fate of the corporation Thomas Wayne built from what he stole from his parents; and the perspective of suddenly becoming a CEO seemed very amusing to him. He did attend a business school, and his grades were acceptable - but he knew damn well this is not about his accomplishments. This was about his name, about his face; and what a face Wayne Enterprises was about to get!

(He looked like his own shadow.)

He went home with a drug sample safely stored away in his pocket; he needed a shower and a cup of coffee. He recently avoided sleeping as much as possible - he was plagued by nightmares.

The drug he injected Charlie with was slowly wearing off; she was waking up - but he decided to not bother her. He could still feel the slap, he could still hear everything he said to her; he deserved that one. The substance he used on her was something he cooked up between batches of the toxin for Lady Arkham; it was a very potent soporific substance, that also screwed one’s short-term memory and perception. The last hour or so before falling asleep will probably be just an incoherent blur to Charlie; maybe she’ll remember an argument - but he could always say it was about something prosaic, like who ate the last jelly donut.

“What happened?” Charlie muttered, stumbling out of her bedroom; she was still dressed up and her hair were a mess - and her eyes were red and puffy. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Looks like it.” Oswald said cautiously; his mask was safely hidden in his closet, and his suit and grey tie looked generic enough to not make anyone instantly think of the Penguin. “Were you crying?”

“What?”

She touched her wet cheeks and blinked.

“Jesus.” she muttered. “I think… I had a nightmare.”

Finally she realized that it’s a break of dawn - and he’s fully dressed.

“Where _were_ you at this hour?”

“I was… Taking a walk. I needed to clear my head.”

“That’s weird.” she said slowly. “That’s what my nightmare was about, I think. You were leaving, and I asked where are you going… And all hell broke loose. You’ve been acting weird recently, you know.” she added sadly; and he realized she’s probably not fully awake yet, judging from how slowly she was talking and how here eyes seemed hazy. “I miss the old you.”

“I think you should go back to bed.” he said, disappearing in a bathroom; but when he left, drying his hair with a towel - she was still there.

“Why did you change so much, Oz?” she asked him, following him to the kitchen. “I barely recognize you anymore.”

( _“Why won’t you get away and stay away?”  
“Because I love you!”_)

“People change, Charlie.” he said, making himself a cup of coffee; she sighed. “You told me… You told me you love me. Did you mean it?”

“I think I did.” she said sadly and yawned. “Why?”

“Do you think I fucked things up beyond repair?”

“No.” she said with another yawn. “But it will take you some apologizing to make things right again. I’m tired.” she added. “I think I’ll go back to bed.”

“Yeah.” he said quietly. “You do that.”

She - slowly, clumsily - walked up to him and put her hand on his bare shoulder; her touched burned him like fire.

“Hey, Oz.” she said with a yawn.

“Yeah?” he asked, turning his head; to which she stood on her tiptoes and planted a light kiss in the corner of his mouth.

“I miss you.” she said hesitantly and went back to bed - and he stood there, paralyzed. He couldn’t believe it; maybe not everything was lost. Maybe there still was a chance to rebuild what he destroyed in a fit of mindless desperation.

***

The meeting with the board went surprisingly well; he put all his charms to use and it seemed like his charisma overshadowed even the dark circles and bags under his eyes; and so did the praises Crispin sang about him when contacted by the board.

Now all that was left was to inform Bruce about the decision - and for Oswald to find a way to give him the sample without the chairwoman noticing. It was just a small ampoule; but Regina Zellerbach seemed to not be on his side and he was sure she’ll be watching his every move, in order to find something that could be used as a leverage in reinstancing Bruce as the CEO, be it figurehead or not.

Bruce seemed to not be happy; which was understandable. Joking around about redecorating and _Cobblepot_ sitting easier on the tongue than _Wayne_ Oswald frantically tried to think of a way of giving Bruce the sample; he thought of a solution just as Wayne was about to leave.

He hid the tiny bottle in his sleeve and picked up the one thing in the room that looked both important and small enough to be inconspicuous; a pocket watch, sitting in a small, portable case atop Bruce’s - and now his - heavy desk.

“Oh, how sweet. Graduation present?” he asked, turning around to face Bruce and Regina. “Surely we can let him take this along.”

Bruce walked up to him and reached out to take the watch with a look of resignation on his face; Oswald sighed quietly, not exactly pleased about what was going to come next.

“Sorry.” he mouthed to Bruce who nodded slightly; and then Oswald let go of the case which fell to the ground and shattered into pieces.

“We’ll take care of it.” Oswald muttered, as he and Bruce knelt down; while Bruce was picking the - mostly intact - watch up, Oswald quickly drew the bottle out of his sleeve and slid it into Bruce’s hand.

“Penguin says _allo_.” he said, quietly enough only Bruce could hear; the disgraced millionaire nodded and left.

Oswald left the building few hours later; he felt like a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Lady Arkham was going to go down tomorrow; and he got his blasted retribution for what happened to his parents. He felt tired; really, actually, physically tired. He decided that as soon as he gets home he’s going to bed, to take a twelve hours-long nap; but that was not to be.

As he got home - Charlie was in the middle of packing her stuff.

“What are you doing?” he asked, despite seeing the boxes and suitcases.

“I’m going home.” she replied quietly. “You don’t want me here, and it’s fine. I don’t want to be a bother. I just wish you _told_ me, instead of constantly lying and ignoring me.”

“I didn’t _want_ to push you away, Charlie. That was the exact opposite of what I wanted.”

“And yet you did!” she said, quickly turning around; there were tears streaming down her cheeks. “You did, Oswald. You promised me you wouldn’t lie to me.” she said, her voice breaking. “Remember? You _promised_. And in a way - you kept this promise. You pushed me away, so you didn’t have to _lie_. Why don’t you trust me? Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on? And don’t say _everything’s alright_!” she added before he said anything. “Because clearly _nothing_ is alright.”

He felt tired; too tired, too exhausted to lie.

“I’ll tell you the truth.” he said. “Did you watch the news?”

“I did.”

“I’m the Penguin.” he said; and Charlie dropped the pile of clothes she was holding. “I killed mayor Hill. I orchestrated the assassination of Carmine Falcone and the break-in to the mayor’s office. I was helping Lady Arkham - until today.”

“What?” she asked faintly.

“She blackmailed me into helping her.” he said tiredly. “She needed a loyal right hand man - someone competent, clever, driven. And I was the perfect - and unwilling - candidate… So she used the leverage she had on me.”

“What did she have on you?” she asked, her voice trembling; he looked her in the eye, he looked at her face. That was it - the thing he so badly wanted to avoid; but it was either this or lies, more and more lies.

And he was too tired to lie.

“You may want to sit down for this one.”

“Just… Just tell me.”

“Alright, but I’ll start from the middle. Also… This one calls for a demonstration.”

He went to his bedroom, where he kept his notebooks; both the poetry and the Spencer one. He never destroyed them, for some reason; maybe for the better.

He returned to the living room, where Charlie was still standing in the middle of the floor, staring at him.

“The man you knew as Harry Spencer… Never existed.” he said cautiously, watching her face. “That was not his real name. Everything he told you about himself, about his past… Was a _lie_.”

He handed her the notebook; she took it and stared at its plain cover.

“I didn’t like him from the _start._ ” he admitted. “So I started… To watch him. Something about him rubbed me the wrong way… And I was right. He was a con artist.”

“Only interested in my money.” she said; her voice sounded hollow, empty. “I know.”

“I managed to find his identity, I managed to get some proof… And I decided it’s time to end this thing, before he realizes, before he slips away.”

“What did you do?”

“I killed him.” he admitted tiredly; it was way easier than he thought it’d be, maybe because he said it to himself so many times, he relieved it in dreams and during sleepless nights so many times. “I… Wanted to let him go, at first. But then he said one word too many-”

“Stop.” she interrupted him. “Y-you killed him? You killed Harry?”

“You weren’t a _person_ to him.” he said quietly. “He was using you, he’d break your heart - and then move onto another girl. I couldn’t let him destroy you. Not you.”

She was shaking; she let go of the notebook and it dropped onto the floor and she covered her face with her hands - and started to cry.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” she eventually choked out, as he was sure she’s going to tell him to get the hell out of her life. “You fucking _idiot_!”

She hit him in the chest with her fists; and it didn’t quite hurt, so he let her furiously pound him.

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me?!” she screamed through tears. “You cretin! You idiot!”

“I didn’t know how you’d react!”

“So you decided to do what, push me away?! Lie?! _Help a fucking terrorist?!_ ”

“I was a fool!” he said desperately as she groaned with frustration, hitting him even harder. “Alright? I admit it! I was an idiot!”

That seemed to only enrage her further; so he grabbed her wrists as she furiously writhed, trying to get her hands free.

“Stop hitting me!”

“You deserve it!” she declared, still pulling; but he held her wrists in an iron grip. “Let me _go_!”

Hesitantly, he let her go; and she instantly grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled, until they foreheads touched.

“I love you, you colossal fucking idiot.” she whispered, looking him in the eye with a puzzling mix of anger, helplessness and adoration. “Not as a brother. And… Don’t tell me I picked the wrong guy.”

“Y-you remember?”

“I remembered, few hours ago.” she admitted. “Please, Oswald. No more tiptoeing around the topic. No more cutting me off in the middle of a sentence. I never intended to tell you we should be _friends with benefits_. I’ve had a crush on you for _years_ \- and it came back to me recently.”

“I lied when I said red’s not my color.” he whispered back, staring at her trembling lips. “Red had been my color since you visited me in England.”

“So, are you going to kiss me now?”

He wanted to kiss her so badly his lips were actually _aching_ ; and he was about to - when they were interrupted by the doorbell.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” he groaned, pulling away. “Really? Right now?”

“Hey, Oz.”

“Yeah?” he asked, already walking towards the door. “By the way, I still stand by everything I told you. I love you, Charlie. Been this way for quite some time now.”

“That’s what _I_ wanted to say.” she replied; but he barely heard it, because when he opened the door - he was face to face with Vicki Vale.

Who… Didn’t seem to be angry, actually - in fact she seemed to be quite _happy_ about something. He’d seen her angry; and that was not it, as he realized with relief.

“A little bird told me about certain changes at Wayne Enterprises.” she said in a chipper tone, walking past him. “Oh! Did I interrupt something?”

“My father asked me to come home for a few days.” Charlie lied smoothly before Oswald said anything. “He needs my input on a very particular matter… And I’m terrible at packing _just_ the right amount.”

“She once took eleven dresses for a two-days trip.” Oswald added, facing Vicki. “And, back to Wayne Enterprises… I’m in charge now.”

“Right.” she said with a smile, pulling out a notebook; there was no hint of anger in her eyes, no trace of distrust. “So I thought… You’d answer a few questions for me. You know. Your favorite journalist?”

Charlie left the room to give them some privacy; and once they were alone - Vicki _winked_ at him and whispered _now we can truly begin_.

He did it; he found his way out, he fixed the mess he had gotten himself into.

***

“Batman synthesized the blocker for me and alerted the police. They’re waiting for my mark.” Bruce told him quietly before the conference. “Thank you, Oz.”

“No worries.” Oswald replied, scanning the crowd. “I got mixed up in this mess unwillingly. You being part of a plan… Was a blessing, really.”

“That’s very… Noble of you.” Bruce said cautiously. “I thought you’d be…”

“Bitter? Resentful?”

“Among other things, yeah.”

“Honestly? At first I was. But… I grew up safe and loved, regardless of what happened to my parents. Crispin took care I didn’t become a resentful prick. Maybe he’ll find some peace now.” he added with a sigh. “He spent years trying to figure out what exactly happened to my mother. Now… We know. Now we can rest.”

“I wish I could say the same.” Bruce muttered, and Oswald glanced at him, realizing that of _course_ Bruce didn’t know; he didn’t spent months getting this one, singular information out of Hamilton Hill.

“I know what _really_ happened to your parents.” he said very quietly. “Care to hear it?”

“...yes.”

“Hamilton Hill hired one of Falcone’s hitmen.” he said quietly, watching Regina’s speech. “It was supposed to look like a mugging gone wrong - and it did. And then, once Chill was caught… They hired _another_ hitman. S’funny, innit? A string of assassinations… That ended with _them_ being assassinated.”

“And… _How_ do you know all this?”

“Penguin told me.” Oswald said with a nonchalant shrug. “He’s _very_ chatty.”

“Alright, next question. How do you know the Penguin?”

“Same way you know the Bat, probably.” Oswald replied with a wink; and that was it for their conversation. It was time for Bruce to make his farewell speech.

He noticed Vicki in the crowd, her eyes fixated on Bruce; suddenly she looked him in the eye, smiling lightly. He smiled back, nodding slightly; and when it was time for _his_ speech, when Bruce left the stage and stood in the crowd, as Vicki was slowly making her way to him - Oswald made a split-second decision.

He dragged his speech out a bit, in order to not alert Vale; he only got to the point once he saw her stab Bruce with a syringe disguised as a pen.

“...but that was all in the past.” he continued. “And I am bigger than revenge, and I know that Bruce Wayne is a man way better than his father _ever_ was. No person should be held responsible for the crimes committed by their parents; we are better than this. Violence for violence is the rule of beasts - and we are not beasts, even if Gotham seems to have an animal problem of sorts.”

The journalists laughed; and he watched policemen slowly close on Vicki Vale.

“It’d make no sense for me to take over Wayne Enterprises.” he finally said; and he could feel Vicki’s eyes on him. “I’m honored by this proposition - but I’m forced to refuse if it means Bruce won’t be there, at my side. It’s time for the Waynes and the Cobblepots to stand side by side again. I am above shallow, petty vengeance.” he said, locking eyes with infuriated Vicki. “Ladies and gentlemen… We just captured Lady Arkham.”

***

And that was it - the revolution was over before it began.

There was no evidence linking Oswald Cobblepot to the Penguin; and there was no evidence linking him to the murder he allegedly committed, all thanks to the Riddler.

The trial of self-proclaimed Lady Arkham was complicated, and dragged a lot of dark secrets out to the surface; such as the true nature of her foster parents, monsters who shattered her psyche.

This - and the fact her equipment miraculously disappeared without a trace - made the threat appear a lot less material; Gotham had no idea about the true nature of a storm that nearly hit it.

“She’s going to get better.” Batman told Penguin one night at the docks. “It’ll take a lot of time, but… She’ll get better.”

“She better.” Penguin sighed. “I keep thinking… What if Cobblepot _did_ become like her? What then?”

“Gotham would be a very different place.”

Batman turned around to leave.

“Hey, Bat.”

“Yes?”

“Next time you see her… Tell Catwoman she’s going to get a one star review from Cobblepot.”

“Why won’t _he_ tell her that?”

“She’s not picking up his calls.”

He finally kissed Charlie that night; when it was just the two of them, with no more secrets.

She didn’t make anything easy for him.

“I changed my mind.” she said when their lips were about to meet; she put her index finger on his lips and gently pushed him away. “I’m still waiting for that apology.”

There were very few people that could convince Oswald to drop down to his knees - coincidentally all of them were women.

Fish. Vicki. Ella.

Charlie.

“I am sorry.” he said, kneeling in the middle of their living room, as Charlie was laughing her ass off on the couch. “I am sorry! I was an idiot, a jerk, a prick! Oh, my fair lady, I beg your forgiveness, so please, forgive your humble servant! For I shall perish without your grace-”

“This is enough!” she interrupted him, still giggling. “You’re forgiven, you prick. Now come here. _Like a person._ ” she added when he attempted to move on his knees. “Drop the act and get your ass here.”

She grabbed his shirt and pulled him in as soon as he got close enough; and he finally kissed her.

She practically melted under his touch; and she was even more beautiful than he remembered.

“I love you…” she said feverishly, her cheeks flushed, caressing his face with her trembling fingers.

She was sweet like honey; and so was her voice, when she was calling out his name.

***

Crispin and Eleanor took the news so well Oswald was at first sure this is just an initial shock and that soon - they’ll disapprove.

But they didn’t.

“We just want what’s the best for you, for _both_ of you.” Eleanor stated. “And… You’re not siblings. We never pushed you to see each other as siblings - and you made a conscious decision. There’s nothing to disapprove.”

“Frankly, this is an ideal scenario.” Crispin added. “You know each other well, neither of you is a con artist… _I think._ ” he added, looking at Oswald. “Con artist, CEO… Same difference.”

“I’ll remind you of this sentiment next time Wayne Enterprises makes a donation to your campaign.” Oswald said with a wink, raising a glass of champagne; and Crispin laughed.

They visited the graves of his parents the same night, just him and Crispin.

“Do you regret it?” Crispin asked him. “Learning the truth?”

“It’d come out, sooner or later.” Oswald sighed. “So no.”

“You’re a good man, Oswald. Your parents… They’d be proud of you. You’re everything Essie wanted her child to be.”

“Raised by you?”

“It’s a promise we made to each other in our youths. That if something happens, and we manage to find each other again in time… We will be there for each other.”

“I’m glad you kept your promise.” Oswald said softly.

They stood by the grave of Esther and Theodore in silence for a while; there was nothing else left to say.

Later that night Oswald fell asleep with his head on Charlie’s stomach; he dreamt of a world where Crispin wasn’t there to keep his promise.

He didn’t remember anything the next morning; except for a wave of red hair and adoring, blue eyes.

But he woke up in a world where everything was good; and that was all that mattered.

And Gotham kept on living; and life went on.

 


End file.
